Broadsword Bree: Tamer of the Tide
by Bad Luck Bree
Summary: Sequel to Bad Luck Bree. An evil, powerhungry man has discovered a way to gain power over the sea. Bree. But he never reckoned with the girl's spirit. Or the wrath of Davy Jones. MORE DAVY&BREE!
1. Making Port

Chapter I

Making Port

The sky was overcast, only a few bars of golden light breaking through the cloud cover to speckle the rippling waves. A light curtain of drizzle was blowing in as well, slanting towards the west. All in all, it was a sluggish day.

A ship was sailing towards a small island, all sails set. The ship wasn't a normal ship. Two jutting bowsprits gave it the appearance of a great beast on the hunt. The sails were the color of the timber, covered in sea creatures and algae. Any seafarer would have recognized the ship at once. The _Flying Dutchman_.

Aye, it was the _Dutchman_. She was moving swiftly, the wind billowing out her thick sails as sea spray blossomed out at her bow.

Davy Jones stood at the prow, scanning the horizon and the island before him. It had been ten years to the day since he had last set foot on land. He was looking forward to his next visit. A few weeks earlier, he might not have been so optimistic.

And now the reason for Jones' optimism and high spirits came to stand beside him at the railing. A young girl who appeared to be about seventeen but in reality was almost twenty, thanks to her immortality, leaned out to survey the oncoming island. She had dirty blond hair that hung in Nordic braids, and her skin was tanned by the sun, but still a fair complexion. She had the faint reminders of battle scars, attesting to her occupation as a tough pirate and warrior, even though the presence of a large double hilted broadsword strapped to her back gave that away immediately.

But one look at the girl's wild eyes told an onlooker all they needed to know. The girl was older than she seemed. She was wise beyond her years, she had seen things other young girls never would, and she had experienced life in a way completely different from anyone else who ever lived. Those deep blue depths carried their own story.

They carried the story of Bad Luck Bree.

But Bree wasn't known as Bad Luck Bree anymore. She had sailed for four years with Hector Barbossa aboard his ship, the _Bloodmast._ During this time, Bree had worked her way up to first mate. She had proved herself a true pirate and had gained a new name for herself. Barbossa affectionately named her Broadsword Bree, as her old name wasn't as fitting anymore. And now that Bree was back aboard the _Dutchman_, her home, she didn't return to that name.

And so it was that Broadsword Bree stood beside Davy Jones, looking out over the waves to the approaching land. Bree looked to Jones excitedly. It had been a while since she had gone ashore.

Jones glanced down at Bree, grinning at her, admiring the excited glow that was in the girl's face and eyes. He wished he could give her more than a day to go ashore, but his curse only allowed him twenty-four hours on land.

Bree spoke in her unique voice, almost too low for a girl's but too melodious for a boy's, "What's this island called, Cap'n?"

Jones turned to her, almost about to reprimand her for not using his name. When he had married Bree he had requested she call him Davy, as a wife should call her husband by his name. And Bree had agreed, but then they both decided that it would be wise for Bree to call him by his title in front of the crew.

"I'm not sure I know this place," Jones answered Bree, looking closely at the island in question. He gave up and shrugged, "Ah well. 'Tis too late t' go ashore today. We'll go tomorrow. An' no arguments, ye understand?" He looked down at Bree with mock severity. Bree grinned and saluted, "Aye aye, Cap'n!"

Bree lay on her back, trying to sleep. She was too excited to be going ashore again to sleep. She could hear Jones' measured breathing beside her, so he was asleep. Bree was somewhat surprised. He hadn't been ashore for a decade, and she had been only been away for a few months. Ah, well, no matter.

Rolling over onto her side, Bree tried shutting her eyes, but she couldn't relax. She sighed heavily. Jones stirred. Bree ruefully remembered how good his hearing was.

The _Flying Dutchman_'s captain raised his head drowsily, saying in a groggy voice, "Ain't ye 'sleep, Bree?"

Bree blew another deep sigh, "No…I can't relax…too restless."

Jones sat up a bit, looking over at her. He blinked several times and rubbed at his eyes with a tentacle. Bree tapped him gently, "Aren't ye a bit restless? I mean, havin' been at sea for ten years…"

Jones shrugged, "Returnin' to shore never was much of a happy occasion, Bree. I would only go to Isla Cruces."

Bree tilted her head at him, "To look at the chest? An' the…"

Jones caught a slight uneasiness in Bree's voice. He knew she was thinking of the crate of forgotten memories. Slightly concerned, Jones stroked Bree's arm, speaking softly, "Aye. But no more. I thought we'd stop off here. Give ye a chance to have a li'l adventure, aye?" He grinned.

Bree smiled, her eyes shining, "Aye! Ye know how to please a woman, don't ye?"

Jones chuckled, laying back down, "Aye, that I do. But ye're an easy one to please, Bree. Another thing I admire 'bout ye. Now ye'd best git some sleep."

Bree followed his advice, allowing him to tuck her into his arms. She breathed a contented sigh of comfort and soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Bree woke shortly after dawn. Jones was already awake, but he hadn't moved, as the girl was still comfortably folded in his arms. Bree stretched her arm over Jones' chest and yawned expansively, straightening her legs in a comfortable contortion to get the sleepy cramps from her body.

Gently pulling away from Jones' arm, Bree sat up, rubbing at her eyes. Jones sat up as well, watching Bree. He liked watching her in the mornings. It was a good time to simply admire her as there were no crewmen around to suggest lewd things.

Bree's hair was in lovely disarray over her shoulders, falling down to her back. Her shirt was wrinkled and creased from her sleep and the sleeves were slightly rolled up to reveal her lean, muscular arms, the faint light giving her tanned skin a golden glow. Jones liked that about Bree. She wasn't a proper lady. She was strong and hardy, capable and tough, weathered and a real survivor. He admired her independence and fiery spirit. It matched his own.

Jones rose, clenching his claw a few times before turning back to watch Bree. She slipped from the bed, yawning again. She went to the corner, retrieving her boots, her jerkin and her sword belt. Jones also retrieved his own sword belt, buckling it around his waist.

Bree was still trying to wake up properly, yawning and stretching. Jones went to her and began to rub her arms in an attempt to help her wake up. Bree nodded appreciatively and began to fix her hair into her loosely arranged braids.

Jones, as he waited for the girl to properly prepare herself, went to his organ, fingering some of the keys. He piddled around for a bit until he spoke, "Are ye ready to go ashore, love?"

Bree stamped her foot down a few times to shake off the tingling numbness from it before answering, "Aye, I'm ready. Considerin' how I'll be holdin' out for ten years like ye."

Jones turned to her, "I thought I told ye that anytime we was close enough t' shore ye were free to visit."

Bree nodded, speaking, "Aye, ye did. But the _Dutchman_ ain't ever that close to land often. Besides, who'll be retrievin' the lost souls if ye're always playin' chaperone?"

Jones grinned slightly, "Ye're a true pirate, Bree. Eager for ship battles, that's it, innit?"

Bree growled, "Maybe…somethin' wrong wi' that?"

Jones stood and went to her, tipping her chin slightly, "No. An' ain't I th' luckiest man to have someone as bloodthirsty as ye to stand by me side!"

Bree searched his face, saying in a somewhat suspicious tone, "Are ye makin' fun o' me?"

Jones looked right back into her eyes, speaking in a no nonsense voice, "No. Never." Then he bent quickly and kissed her. Bree gave a little squeak of surprise, but settled and answered back. Jones was so unpredictable. He still had a hot temper, and Bree could never really read his eyes. But there was always a soft affection for her there. However, he normally didn't show his affections too openly when they were in front of the crew. The entire crew knew, of course. But passion and affection were saved for the times when Jones and Bree were alone.

Jones drew away and strode out onto the deck. Bree shook off the daze and followed after him, adjusting her sword hilt.

Soon, the ship's boat was lowered. Bree sat between Clanker and Bootstrap, watching the shore eagerly. As they rowed closer, Bree felt her eagerness increase. At last, they scudded to a halt. Bree vaulted over the boat's side, splashing knee deep in the surf. She ran onto the beach, looking back at the crew and at the tracks she was leaving in the damp sand. She still didn't know why she was so eager to be ashore. She had gone for almost a total of three years without setting foot on land once. Perhaps the change of lifestyle for her was the reason. Or maybe she was excited for Jones. Excited that he was coming ashore as well.

Jones watched Bree, smiling inwardly at her eagerness. She was like a small child, running down the beach, completely unconcerned if she was making a fool of herself. He didn't think she was. He liked her youthful spirit. That was one of the many things he found so alluring about her.

Jones gingerly stepped over the side, splashing through the surf. He stepped onto the firm sand and shook off the water. He smiled again. He supposed it was nice to be back ashore. Over the past few centuries, his visits to shore would be to Isla Cruces, to brood over his painful past. But now Jones had put his past behind him. Now he had Bree.

Clanker and Hadras pushed the ship's boat up past the tide line, saluting as Jones nodded to them. Clanker looked over at Bree, smirking, "Lookit Miss Bree! She's found a tide pool!"

Jones looked to where Clanker was pointing. He couldn't help a smile.

Bree was up to her waist in the rock pools, laughing like a child as all manner of sea creatures swam around her. As she was a crewmember of the _Flying Dutchman_, sea creatures were not frightened of her.

Clanker and Hadras went off to join Bree. Jones grinned, stretching his good leg and looking about him. The island seemed quiet enough. Not too small, though.

A squeal attracted Jones' attention back to the rock pool. Clanker had shoved Bree under playfully, and she had surfaced, pulling her crewmate into the water. The rest of the shore party gathered about to watch.

Bootstrap stood by Jones, laughing quietly. If you had watched the two, you would have seen affection in both blue stares. Bootstrap loved Bree as a father would love a daughter. And that was one of the reasons he didn't hate his captain as much anymore. Because he hadn't broken the girl's heart. She had healed his.

Jones looked down at Bootstrap, "Would it be undignified if I were t' join 'em?"

Bootstrap actually dared to make a joke, "Maybe ye should skip the frolickin' in the water."

Jones actually laughed, making his way closer so as to watch the spectacle.

Bree was winning her wrestling match against Clanker. She had him in a headlock and was forcing a large hermit crab into his mouth. He managed through a mouthful of crushed shell, "Mmmpf! I give, I-golmpf…I give! Lemme go!"

Bree let him go, slapping him on the back, "Tonight, bones'n'bread on me!"

The crew gave three rousing cheers. Then Bree was hauled out of the rock pool, followed by Clanker.

Jones made his way to Bree, flicking some wet hair from her cheek. He admired her silently. He had never mentioned it to her, but he liked seeing her roughed up. Her face was all aglow from the wrestling match, there was seaweed intertwined in her hair and she looked very wild indeed. Like a maiden from the sea.

Grinning down at the girl, Jones said, "Ye need to stop doin' that, miss. Ye're makin' me smile too much. Crew might think I'm gettin' soft."

Bree looked up at him, "You? Davy Jones, terror of the seas? Remember, ye flogged me with a chain. I don't think they'd think ye're soft."

Jones visibly winced as she mentioned the flogging. He gripped her shoulder hard, hissing down at her, "Why did ye have to bring that up? Ye know how I feel about that!"

Bree, much to Jones' chagrin but reluctant delight, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, answering, "I brought it up so ye know I've forgiven ye long since."

The day was waning. It had been a day of rare fun for the crew. They were normally a sober, rather sadistic bunch, but Bree brought out the child in all of them. Her youthful, enthusiastic antics cheered everyone. Good thing Jimmylegs wasn't there. He would have dampened all spirits.

Bree had decided to take a short walk alone along the beach. She needed a short time of solitude. This would be her only chance.

Bree had found a beautiful spot along the beach, a large clump of rocks where the sea spray reached high in large, blooming white fountains. Sitting out in a rock that reached into the water, Bree watched the surface, her keen eyes following the swirling designs formed by sea foam on the aqua water.

This was a good time for Bree to think. Think about her life. Things had changed drastically over the last year. She had been kidnapped, pressganged, rescued, captured, freed…and she had fallen in love in the midst of that. Then she had gone ahead and gotten married!

Bree smiled. She would never doubt her decision. But she had always had doubts about herself. What if Davy grew apart from her? What if his thoughts returned to Calypso? What if…

But no one could answer the what if's. Jones himself had reassured her countless times that he had moved on. And Bree believed him. She was happy to believe him.

As Bree sat there thinking, a voice hailed her. Turning, Bree saw a band of dark-skinned men dressed in sailor's clothes, probably natives, coming down the beach towards her. Bree groaned inwardly. Bree might have been a young girl, but pirate and warrior was written all over her, from her sword to her rough, sun tanned skin and hard muscled limbs.

Bree decided to slowly begin moving away from the men. She stepped back onto the beach and walked backwards, trying to disappear around the next bend. But the men began jogging toward her, realizing that she wouldn't stop.

There was nothing else for it. Bree turned and ran, sprinting as fast as she could, sand flying up from her heels.

Bree would have gotten away, but the shifting sand betrayed her and she fell heavily. She felt hands grasp her shoulders and was flipped over. Rolling over, Bree was pinned to the ground.

But Bree acted quickly. Pushing up with her legs, she managed to propel the man away from her. She wriggled free, scooting backwards and leaping up, her sword out. She turned to the man, only to be confronted by a total of seven men.

All seven rushed at the girl, but it was like trying to catch smoke upon the wind. Bree darted in among them, stinging with her blade like a deadly wasp. She slit one man's throat with a skillful flick as she passed under him, and managed to break another's neck by striking him with her sword hilt.

Bree was handling herself fine until one of the men, one whom she had recently kicked to the ground, caught her foot in a noose. Bree tripped and fell heavily. The first man leaped on her, straddling her hips and holding her wrists down. Bree struggled, angling her head around and delivering a sharp bite to the man's hand. He yelped in pain and let go of her.

Bree scrambled up again, turning swiftly. One of the men had come up behind her and struck her a hard blow to the face with the flat of his dagger. Bree stumbled back, clapping a hand to her cheek.

A roar erupted from further down the beach. Everyone, including Bree, turned to see Davy Jones come barreling through the surf towards them, moving at an alarming pace considering how he only had one good leg.

Jones hit the men like a whirlwind, his sword out. He flew past one, severing him through the torso as if he was slicing soft wax. He broke another's neck by striking the unfortunate with his claw, and drove his sword blade up to the hilt into another man's chest.

The two remaining men dropped their weapons and took off running down the beach.

Jones stood there, chest heaving, teeth bared and eyes blazing. He wiped his sword blade off on his coat arm, not minding the red stain. He looked to Bree, concerned, "Ye all right?"

Bree was rather huffy. She sheathed her sword, speaking in an indignant voice, "I could've handled 'em meself."

Jones hid a smile. He could hear a slightly playful tone in Bree's voice. He answered in an equally deceptive tone, "Aye, an' if I thought ye could've I wouldn't 'ave stepped in."

Bree sniffed, nursing her injured dignity. She looked off towards the beach, "Ah, well. Ye hogged all the fun, though."

Jones concealed his admiration. What a little savage! He lightly touched her cheek, wiping some blood from her face. She had a cut on her cheek where the dagger blade had struck her. Bree touched the area gingerly, as if just noticing it.

Jones looked back in the direction the other two had run, "We'd best leave now afore more come back."

Bree nodded in agreement, and the two trekked back to the boat. The crew was preparing to leave. Jones took a swift headcount.

"Where's Mister Turner?"

Bree's expression swiftly changed to one of concern, "He ain't here?" She gripped Jones' arm, "Oh…what if he was caught?"

Jones shrugged, "Not much we could do. They can't hurt 'im, an' we have to leave afore nightfall."

Bree hatched a swift plan, "I'll stay an' look for 'im. I can catch up later."

Jones shook his head, "'Course not, Bree. Ye'd be caught!"

Bree looked defiant. She crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes hard, "I'm stayin'!"

Jones sighed, knowing he wouldn't move the girl. He raised his hand in resignation, "Fine. But take Koleniko with ye."

Bree nodded, beckoning to Koleniko, who came obediently, "Marm?"

Bree patted his shoulder, wincing a bit as his spines pricked her hand, "Ye're comin' wi' me to look for Mister Turner. We won't be long."

Jones, reluctant to leave them but not wanting to argue further, turned to the boat, stepping in, "Try to be back by nightfall."

Bree raised her hand in answer. Then she and Koleniko disappeared into the island's forest of palms.

Bree and Koleniko trekked through, calling out to Bootstrap. Surely he couldn't have gone far.

"Maybe we should split up, Bree," Koleniko suggested, and Bree agreed, "Aye, we'd cover more ground that way. But we won't go too far. We'll stay within earshot, aye?" Koleniko nodded, and the two separated.

Bree didn't realize that her hearing was far better than Koleniko's. And he had no chance of hearing what happened next.

Bree was seized in a vice-like grip, her sword ripped from her back as her attacker began squeezing the breath from her. Bree wriggled helplessly. Twelve natives came out of the cover of the trees, weapons pointed at her. Bree began yelling out frantically to her shipmate, only to be knocked senseless by a musket butt struck across the back of her head. All went black.

Bootstrap hurried along the beach, shouldering a skin of fresh water. Aye, the _Dutchman_ didn't need supplies, but it was always nice to have fresh water.

Slipping into the water, Bootstrap began making his way for the _Dutchman_. Jones would have his hide for making them all wait. He cursed, hoping he wouldn't cause any consequences for the rest of the crew.

Bootstrap hauled himself up the ship's side, taking Clanker's helping hand and allowing his mate to pull him over the railing. He landed a bit awkwardly but straightened, shaking the water from his cloak.

Jones spotted him and came towards him anxiously. He looked over the side, confusion on his face.

"Where're Bree an' Koleniko?"

Jones' confusion was mimicked in Bootstrap's face, "They…aren't they with ye?"

Jones' expression turned to concern, "They're still over on th' island? We've only a few hours to stay here! Then we have to weigh anchor!"

Bootstrap looked back to the island, concern for his two mates filling him. He began praying that they came soon, before they had to be left behind.

Koleniko had given up the search. For Bootstrap and for Bree. The girl hadn't shown up anywhere. His only choice was the return to the _Dutchman_. And he was sure he would receive a flogging when he did return.

Slipping into the water, Koleniko concocted a story on his way to the ship. A good excuse was what he needed.

Koleniko climbed over the side, only to be confronted by Davy Jones. Jones looked behind Koleniko, his eyes going dark with dread.

"Where's…where's Bree?"

Koleniko cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Erm…she, uh…she ain't with me. I searched fer a long time! But she didn't come back!"

Jones' tentacles were writhing with distress. He had no time to spare! He had to sail away from this island in less than an hour! And without Bree!

Maccus nudged Jones, "Sir…ye need to make a decision…do we break the rule or move on?"

Jones opened his mouth to answer when Hadras spoke up, "Er…Cap'n…there was a ship that sailed by here about an' hour ago."

Jones whirled around to face the crewman, "Colors?"

Hadras scratched the side of his shell, thinking, "Ah…don't remember. Looked like a slaver ship, though."

Jones gave a roar, yelling out orders to set sail immediately. He would've bet anything that Bree was on that ship.

He wouldn't have lost that bet.


	2. Slaver Kabar

Chapter II

Slaver Kabar

Bree awoke, her head aching abominably. She was in a pitch black surrounding, but the stench was overpowering. She could tell by the swaying movement that she was on a ship. She could hear movement in the corner and thought she could feel something brush up against her leg.

Bree tried to look into the darkness, but was suddenly grabbed around the neck and slammed down, long, cold fingers pawing at her as pressure was put on her waist. Someone was sitting on her.

Bree began to struggle, but the fingers kept pawing at her. Bree sank her teeth into the nearest hand, and she heard a sharp grunt as the hands withdrew. Bree wriggled into the corner, feeling the dread fill her anew.

Suddenly, light flooded the room as a door opened. Bree felt the light pierce her throbbing head. She shaded her eyes, seeing the silhouette of a tall, broad shouldered man. He strode forward, grabbing the girl around the neck and dragging her forward.

Bree lay on the floor of the main cabin, face downwards. She was too exhausted to get up, and too disheartened to do anything. All she knew was that she was away from Davy Jones. For how long, she did not know.

The man that stood before her was the captain of the slaver vessel. He had a long scar running from his forehead to his jaw, turning his lip up in an ugly sneer. He looked down at the prostrate girl and barked out in a gruff voice, "My men tell me ye were with a strange man."

Bree didn't answer, pressing her face to the cool deck.

_Crack!_

Bree cried out in agony, propping herself up sharply. The man drew back his arm again, his long bullwhip poised for action. Bree twisted her back around, seeing that the weapon had ripped her shirt, exposing her fins underneath.

The man looked at the strange fins, his eyes darkening. "So it's true…"

Bree scrambled up into a sitting position, "What d'ye want wi' me?"

The man bent down until he was level with Bree, sneering at her, "I'm told ye were with Davy Jones hisself. Is that true?"

Bree didn't answer, her eyes hard.

_Crack!_

Bree sucked in her breath as the man flicked his scourge forward skillfully, causing it to strike the back of her neck. The man's eyes narrowed, "Ye'd best answer me, girl. Even the bravest o' men don't defy Kabar."

Bree met his gaze, "I do."

Kabar's ugly face broke into a grin. He tossed the whip handle from hand to hand, toying with his captive, "Davy Jones' girl…ne'er thought I'd believe it…but th' rumors are true!"

Bree turned her face away, tears of hot anger trickling down her bloodied cheeks. She was so helpless! Not much she could do now. She was weak and tired and too frightened to do anything.

Kabar tapped Bree's chest with his whip handle, bringing her attention back to him, "Ye'll bring a pretty penny, girl."

Bree growled, shoving the whip handle away angrily, "Ye can't sell me!"

Kabar tipped Bree's chin, watching her with cold, calculating eyes, "Feisty young thing, ain't ye? Men like that…get ye cleaned up, maybe file down those fangs, cut off those fins…get ye into a dress…aye, ye'd bring a crowd."

Bree growled, her anger overcoming her fear. She brought her hand slamming across Kabar's face, claws unsheathed. She hit him with a resounding _thwack_.

Kabar turned his face slowly back to Bree, blood dripping from the five claw marks on his cheek. His face was livid. Bree grinned wickedly, "Ye forgot about th' claws, scum."

Kabar grabbed Bree's wrist, forcing her to the floor. He snarled at her, "Ye'll learn who's master!"

Bree growled, "Ye can't do this to me! I'm a free creature! There'll be th' devil t' pay!"

Kabar laughed harshly, "Aye, but wealthy noblemen lookin' fer a pretty girl pay more!"

Bree tried to fight, but someone came up behind her and looped a rag across her eyes, rendering her helpless. Then she was bound and dragged back to the hold, thrown into the corner like a worthless item.

The moment Bree hit the floor, manacled hands seized her. Those same hands that had assailed her before. But now Bree was bound and unable to defend herself, or even see what was happening!

In the struggle, Bree somehow ended up beneath the other person. She finally managed to touch what felt like a face with her bound hands. She dug in with her claws and was rewarded with an agonized cry.

Bree scooted away, angling her claws upward to cut through the blindfold. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she surveyed her opponent.

A large, dark-skinned man lay nursing his bleeding face, cursing and spitting blood. Bree growled at him, "Don't come near me!"

The man pointed a thick finger at her and began cursing at her in a language she didn't understand. But he seemed to have taken her warning seriously.

Bree curled up, hardly daring to even close her eyes. Not when the crazed man was there. She felt tears slip down her cheeks.

_Davy, help me!_

Kabar's slaver vessel, the _Viper_, put into port the next day. Bree and the other captive were both herded from the ship into a caged cart. Bree sat opposite of the man, and Kabar mounted the cart's driver seat, unwinding his bullwhip from his waist.

The cart took off at a jolting pace. Bree lay slumped, her face pressed to the bars. She looked over at her fellow captive. Over the last day, they had managed to communicate in a sort of sign language. They had declared a truce and Bree had apologized for clawing his face by tending to his wounds. They couldn't fight amongst themselves. They were both animals being led to market.

The cart arrived in a busy town, one Bree didn't catch the name of. But the moment they arrived, she and her fellow captive were taken from the cart and led to the slave market.

The place was packed, and Bree saw other slaves being bought and sold. Pity and resentment filled her. Being a pirate, she was a strong believer in freedom. Her heart beat with righteous fury.

Bree sat in a line with the other slaves, looking down at her manacles. It wouldn't be long before she would be presented. She had decided to look as savage as possible. Then no one would want her. Kabar had forced her into a dress after threatening to kill her fellow captive. She didn't want to cause another death. But she wouldn't run a brush through her hair.

Kabar grabbed Bree by the shoulders and shoved her up onto the block, following after her. He began speaking in his businessman voice, "Gentlemen, here is a true treasure! A fair haired beauty from the northern lands, with enough charm to last a man a lifetime!"

Here Kabar hit Bree hard on the back of the leg, hissing in her ear, "Smile an' act like a lady!"

But Bree did just the opposite. She bared her fangs at the crowd and snarled, rewarded by several astonished gasps. Kabar's face went white with rage. He gripped the back of her neck, trying to turn Bree's actions to his advantage, "Lookit the fire in 'er, gents! Think o' tamin' this one down! She was the wench o' Davy Jones hisself! Wild as the sea itself, a real find! We'll start th' biddin' at three hundred."

A voice spoke louder than the rest, "I'll take her for five hundred."

Kabar didn't hesitate, "Sold!" Then he searched the crowd, "Who, where?"

An official looking man raised his hand, coming to the foot of the stage. Bree took in everything at a glance. He was an Englishman, that she was certain of. He wore a fancy dress uniform. And he looked somewhat familiar…

Kabar held out his hand, "The money…"

The man didn't take his eyes from Bree. He pulled out a purse and tossed it to Kabar, who took it greedily. He handed Bree over to the man, throwing a satchel at the girl and going back to the stand to sell his other captive.

The man took Bree's chin in his hand, forcing her mouth open. He examined her fangs, nodding several times. Then he lowered the girl's head, pulling her eyelids down so as to examine her eyes. He nodded again, then took Bree's chain, holding it like a leash. Without speaking to her, he began leading her through the crowded streets. Bree knew resistance was useless. She was weak and in no condition to escape. She would have to follow.

Bree was taken to another ship, a grand naval vessel called the _Calypso_.

_How ironic I'm bein' taken to my doom by the vessel named after my rival_ Bree thought sardonically. She boarded and was ushered into the main cabin.

Bree was seated in a comfortable chair across from the ship captain's desk. She sat sullenly, death in her face. The man sat across from her, watching her. After a while, he spoke, "Davy Jones' woman, eh?"

Bree bristled, "Stop sayin' it like that!"

The man grinned, thoroughly enjoying this. He spoke again, "The same little pirate who stole Jones' heart from the East India Trading Company?"

Bree froze. She looked straight at the man. _Of course!_ No wonder he looked so familiar!

"Norrington?"

The man nodded slowly. Bree growled, "Release me from these chains an' I'll show ye me fightin' skills ain't changed!"

Norrington shook his head, "No, miss, I'm afraid not. I'm going to take you to where you will be questioned properly."

Bree laughed harshly, "Aye, an' ye think I'll open up?"

Norrington shrugged, "I don't know, young one. Are you wise enough to?"

Bree slumped down, "So…where are ye takin' me? To one o' yer cronies?"

Norrington glanced at her, "Hardly. I'm taking you to Lord Beckett. I think he'll be very…_pleased_…to see you."

He glanced down at Bree's hands. She was fingering something. He grinned smugly. A ring.

"Even better. Now, change out of that dress into these clothes that scum gave you. You have no use for finery here."

Bree caught the satchel Norrington tossed to her. She growled, but waited for him to leave before she began changing back into her jerkin. She stifled tears. _What's to happen to me now?_


	3. Defiance and Fire

Chapter III

Defiance and Fire

A week. A whole week.

Jones had personally flogged Koleniko, venting all his frustration and despair on the unfortunate crewman. It was his fault that Bree was missing! And she had most likely been captured by a slaver! The crew had never seen their captain so furious.

Jones now stood at the railing, searching the waves. They were looking night and day for the slaver vessel, never resting. Jones wouldn't let anyone let up in their work. He was intent on finding Bree, and no one complained.

"Sail ho!"

Jones was immediately at Clanker's side, "Where away?"

The crewman pointed, and Jones followed his finger, spotting the small vessel. He beckoned Hadras to him, asking, "Is that the vessel ye saw?"

Hadras squinted, thought for a while, then nodded, "Aye, Cap'n. That's her."

Jones nodded, giving out orders, "We'll catch 'er against th' wind an' board 'er. I don't want 'er fired upon." He wouldn't take the chance of accidentally hurting Bree, undead as she was.

Catching up to the little vessel wasn't any trouble, and boarding was no difficulty to the _Dutchman_ crew. The simply morphed into the wood and reappeared onboard the _Viper_. All the vile crewmembers of the little ship were no match for the _Dutchman_ crew.

A bloody slaughter ensued. Jones himself stood back and watched, grim satisfaction in his cold, blue eyes. Then he nodded to Maccus, "Find th' cap'n."

Not to long after, Maccus came forward, dragging Kabar by the collar. The slaver was cringing and shaking with terror. His cruel eyes went wide with horror when he saw Davy Jones. He now knew he was going to die. He had sold Jones' girl into slavery!

Jones stepped forward, clasping the man's neck with his claw. He brought his face close to Kabar's, gritting out, "Where's Bree?"

Kabar took one last, desperate chance, "Who's Bree?"

Jones ripped Kabar's whip from his waist and cracked it out, ripping the right sleeve of the slaver's shirt, along with the skin on his arm as he snarled, "Liar! The girl! I know ye had her! Where is she?"

Kabar swallowed, terror clouding his senses. He opened his mouth, but was silenced as Clanker called up to his captain, "Miss Bree ain't here! We've searched everywhere!"

Jones flicked the whip again, severing the tough leather belt around Kabar's waist. A heavy purse fell from the man's belt, clinking on the deck. With another skillful flick, Jones ripped the bag open, letting the gold spill out.

Jones' wrathful gaze met Kabar's wide, cowardly stare. Kabar wished he was already dead. He saw the fires of Hell in Jones' eyes. He babbled out, "I sold 'er on an isle not far north from 'ere! An Englishman bought 'er! Please don't kill me! I didn't know!"

Jones stooped slightly, scooping up a handful of coins. Jingling them slightly, he waved them under Kabar's face, "Ye sold Bree…for this much? She's worth ten, no, a hundred times her weight in gold! But she ain't one to belong to anyone! Ye're the worst kind o' scum there is! Ye're so greedy for gold? Here! Have some!"

And with that, Jones grabbed Kabar by the throat, forcing his mouth open. He stuffed the handful of coins into the man's throat, forcing them down until the man began to choke.

Jones let go of Kabar, and the slaver staggered about, clutching his bulging throat. Blood began bubbling at the corners of his mouth. He was suffocating. His face turned an ugly shade of dark purple. He fell to the ground, writhing as he tried to claw at his throat. Soon, his convulsions subsided, and he went still, with only the occasional twitch. Kabar the slaver, captain of the _Viper_, was dead.

Jones dragged the carcass up by the neck, hurling it effortlessly into the sea, watching it splash into the water with a satisfied fire in his eyes.

Jones turned to Maccus, who stood awaiting his orders. The captain spoke in a hard voice, "Take four men with ye. Find Bree. Or find whatever scum dared to purchase 'er. An' bring both o' 'em to me. I'll kill th' fool with me bare hands!"

Maccus knew by the look in his captain's eyes that he meant every word. It was like looking into the wildest waves of a storm at sea.

Bree was catching a short sleep in the hold, an old, ragged cloak wrapped about her shoulders. At least Norrington didn't treat her horribly. He gave her food and water and something to keep warm.

Bree shifted in her sleep, whimpering slightly. Even though she was asleep, her subconscious was digesting the information she had gleaned off the crew that day. Norrington had docked at the isle to stock up on supplies. It was pure chance that he had spotted her. Obviously, Norrington had lost some face when Bree had stolen Jones' heart from him only a few months ago. Now he was taking the girl to Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company, hoping to gain some favor. Bree was dreading this. She would be face to face with the man who had put a price on Jones' heart.

The _Calypso _made port later that evening. Bree was half asleep when she was grabbed around the arms and hauled up. A blindfold was tied around her eyes and she was marched out onto the deck. She felt the wood slope beneath her as she was led down a ramp. She was pushed forward and gradually felt the wood turn to solid stone ground.

At last, Bree felt the air around her close. She was inside. She heard a door close behind her. The blindfold was pulled from her face and she blinked several times to adjust to the light.

Bree turned her head to the right, only to be slapped back to face the front. Bree's eyes flicked to the figure who stood before her. It was a shorter man, wearing a proper frock coat and powdered wig. Bree immediately didn't like him.

The man looked to Norrington, who stood behind Bree, "Who's this? She looks like a little guttersnipe."

Norrington pushed Bree forward roughly, "This girl is a valuable hostage, Lord Beckett."

Bree heard the name and snarled, baring her fangs at Beckett. The man drew back, his eyes going wide at the sight of the girl's teeth. He glared at Norrington, "This wretch? A hostage? She's probably just a homeless waif or a shameless wench!"

Bree growled again, opening her mouth to say something, but Norrington cut her off, "She's a pirate."

Beckett waved his hand dismissively, "Well, then hang her and be done with it!"

Norrington spoke again, "Sir…she's not just any pirate. She's Davy Jones' pirate bride."

Beckett gaped at Norrington, disbelief in his face. He managed out in a skeptical voice, "This girl? Davy Jones'…"

Norrington stayed respectfully silent as Beckett came forward, looking at the girl. He spoke in a haughty voice, "Speak, girl. Is this true? You look wild and vile enough, I suppose."

Bree raised her chin, "I take that as a compliment from ye, pig!"

Beckett slapped the girl hard. Bree didn't cry out. She turned back to face Beckett, snarling, "I ain't 'fraid o' ye."

Beckett raised his hand to strike her again, but as his hand came down, Bree swiveled her head and sank her teeth into his fingers. She dug down hard, biting him to the bone. Beckett gave out an undignified squeal, trying to tug his hand away, but Bree held on tight.

Norrington pried Bree's jaws apart, freeing Beckett's hand. The man hopped about, sprinkling blood and sucking his breath in and out. He glared hatred at Bree, "I'll make you wish you were dead!"

Bree spat out some blood, hissing, "Ha! Ye don't frighten me! An' ye can't hold me fer long! I belong to the sea!"

Beckett staunched the flow of blood with his spotless white handkerchief. He snarled at the girl, "It's the dungeon for you, little rat!"

Norrington took Bree by the back of the neck and began forcing her out of the room, replacing the blindfold around her face. Beckett called out in a harsher voice, "Wait…instead, take her to the torture chamber!"

Bree was chained to a hard, stone wall. The air was stuffy, and Bree could smell the salty tang of old, rotting blood. The manacles were rusted and tight. The blindfold was removed from Bree's face. She looked about, the room lit by the dim torches.

A large, scar faced brute stood in front of the girl, carrying a flail. He grinned at Bree, his beady black eyes narrowing, "Ah, the pretty young prisoner is ready, aye?"

Bree growled, turning her gaze to Norrington. The man stepped closer, "You'd best speak, young one. Grafter can strip flesh from bone, and I wouldn't like to see that happen to someone so young, no matter how vile a pirate you are. Now…where is the heart?"

Bree turned her face away, "Ye expect me to tell ye? Go boil yer head!"

Norrington nodded to Grafter, "Just give her a warning." He wasn't too keen on seeing the young girl tortured.

Grafter grinned, taking a torch from the wall sconce. Norrington's eyes went wide. _What would he do with that?_

Grafter tore Bree's pant leg, revealing her upper thigh. He grinned wickedly and brought the torch closer. Bree felt the heat nearing her. She bit her lip, eyes going wide with terror.

Bree let out a horrific scream as the flame touched her skin. It seared her flesh, and the stench was terrible. Bree wanted to pull away, but her chains prevented it. The torch was held to her thigh for what seemed like hours. When it was pulled away, Bree's thigh resembled charred meat, the blood still popping and boiling.

Bree felt tears flow down her cheeks. She wailed louder, leaning her head back against the wall as she tried to ignore the agony.

Grafter grinned, looking Bree over again. He spoke to her, his eyes gleaming sadistically, "Amazin' how one so young can endure so much pain. But this is nothin'."

Norrington untensed his jaw. That scream Bree had unleashed had cut through him. He didn't want to see a young girl tortured like this! But he forced himself to speak, "You shall be spared the torment if you tell me what I want to know."

Bree, despite her pain, raised her head and spat at the man's feet, snarling, "Never! I'll never tell ye!"

Norrington shrugged, nodding to one of the guards, even though he didn't enjoy this. Bree watched helplessly as the torch neared her other thigh.

In the dungeons, a young man sat slumped against the stone walls. He was trying to sleep, but he kept hearing those agonized screams. He clamped his hands over his ears, clenching his teeth.

One of the prisoners next to him scooted closer, his chains clinking, "Terrible sound, ain't it, mate?"

The man nodded, cringing as another cry ripped loose. "A young boy, ye think?"

The other nodded, "Aye…sad to know someone so young is takin' on those terrors."

The man nodded, pulling his knees to his chest, "I ain't sure whether to hope he survives or dies…better to die than live everyday bein' tortured by Beckett."

Grafter opened the cell door, throwing Bree into the darkness. She gave out a weak groan as she fell onto her wounded legs.

The cell door slammed behind Bree. Too exhausted, she stayed where she fell, not daring to move her legs. She felt a hand touch her back. Crying out in alarm, Bree swiveled her head around and snapped.

The young man placed his hand on the back of Bree's neck, whispering, "'Tis all right, young'un. C'mon, I'll help ye over to a corner."

Bree was half carried half dragged over to a corner. She was set down, her head propped up on the man's lap.

The man brushed hair out of the young one's face, and then gasped. "'Tis a girl!"

Bree's eyes cracked open. She looked up at the man. He was young, about twenty five years old, and handsome. He had a kind face, and Bree immediately liked him.

The man wiped blood from the girl's face, asking her, "What in Hellgates is a girl doin' here? An' dressed in boy's clothes!"

Bree took a deep breath, answering in a hoarse voice, "I'm…I'm a pirate…me legs…can't…can't feel 'em."

The man saw the burn marks on Bree's legs and winced. He turned away quickly, "They're badly burned, miss. By the way, me name's Thomas. What d'they call ye?"

Bree spoke in a stronger voice, "Bree…m'name's Bree."

Thomas nodded, "Miss Bree, then. Well, ye'd best try an' git some sleep. Don't know when they'll come back for ye, hate to say it."

But these last few words were lost on Bree, who had fallen into a dreamless sleep.


	4. The Pommel Stone

Chapter IV

The Pommel Stone

The surf gently rolled and mixed with the damp sand, forming small dimples and pools as it swirled with the foam. A young kittiwake glided on a steady breeze, searching for prey. It veered suddenly as a larger gull swooped past, stealing the wind. The gull flapped down, its legs protruded for an awkward landing. It hopped forward a few paces, inspecting the object it had seen from the air.

A man lay prostrate on the sand, salt and brine crusting his mouth and nostrils. He had long hair, black but streaked with gray, showing traces of his older age. But he was muscular and a fit looking man. His clothes were saturated and covered in sand. One would have thought he was dead. But the slight breath coming from his partially opened mouth stirred the strands of hair across his face.

The gull stalked around to the man's head, going down to take an exploratory peck. A small crab scuttled across the man's hand, and he flicked his fingers, groaning loudly. The gull leaped into the air and flew off awkwardly, cheated of its intended victim.

The man hauled himself into a sitting position, rubbing sandy hands into his eyes. He coughed, seawater and bile spewing from his mouth. He moaned, probing a loose tooth with his dried out tongue; probably from being struck across the head by that piece of driftwood.

A voice hailed him from down the beach. He shaded his blurry eyes, looking up. A younger man was limping towards him, waving weakly and calling, "Cap'n! Blood 'n' thunder, ye're alive! Thank fortune! I found Thatcher an' Caleb back a ways!" He pointed.

"Ah, thanks be to the fates that ye survived, Flagg," the older man found his voice and held his hand out, "Help me up, lad."

The young man knelt, pulling his captain up. He winced as he saw the long gash from the wooden spar on the older man's head. Tearing a strip from his damp jerkin, he tied it to staunch the bleeding. The older man nodded appreciatively.

"C'mon, sir, I'll take ye to the others," Flagg said, taking his captain's arm. The captain limped a bit, still getting his strength back. Well, there was some hope left. At least they weren't alone.

Thatcher looked up, calling out joyously, "Cap'n Fletcher!"

Caleb, the Jewish sailor, scrambled up, waving his arms to the two newcomers, "Ahoy! O'er here, mates!"

Flagg and Fletcher joined them, flopping down on the sand. Captain Fletcher looked at the survivors of his crew, "Is there no one else? Those frogs blew us right outta th' water! I'm surprised any of us survived!"

Thatcher nodded, crossing himself several times. Flagg bowed his head, and Caleb said a silent prayer for the souls of their shipmates, lost in the bloody battle against a French frigate.

Captain Paul Thatcher was what one would call a virtuous pirate. If a friend of Jack Sparrow's met him, they would notice similarities, but Paul wasn't as flamboyant and tipsy as Jack. But he was a pirate nonetheless. He had recently set sail from Tortuga in his small sloop taken off the Navy. He had renamed it the _Bloody Mary_, named after his wife, a reformed Tortuga wench who had a vicious streak. And it was a recognizable name, of course. Luckily, the claimed Protestant sailors aboard had no complaints.

Now the _Bloody Mary _was at the bottom of the ocean, ripped through with French cannon balls. Over half the crew, dead, either from the sea or the wounds of battle. Only four remained. The captain, the first mate and two crewmen.

Flagg was an optimistic lad. He was the youngest of the four, but he was one of the wisest. He stood, "Well, 'tis no use to sit here like drowned ducks. Why not explore the island? We might find somethin' useful. Such as a village that can give us help."

"Or vicious natives that eat their prisoners?" Caleb suggested glumly.

"Or a Naval port what'll 'ang us?" Thatcher added morbidly.

Paul tut-tutted, "Come now, is that goin' to get us anywhere, men? What Flagg says makes sense. Remember; when there's life, there's hope."

With that, Paul rose, setting off to search for salvation. Flagg followed after his captain, and soon Caleb and Thatcher came after him.

"I…I ran out…"

The bottle shook violently, but not even a drop came out, no matter how hard it was shaken. A moan of despair cut the muggy air. A sigh of exasperation was followed by a suppressed snort of laughter and a smart, "Mebbe 'cause 'e drank it all yesterday."

Jack Sparrow made a face at Ragetti, giving the rum bottle one last shake. But no rum came out. He sighed mournfully, but brightened, his jaunty smile returning. "Well, mates, this calls for a little shore party, methinks."

Of course, the crew was eager for a chance to stretch their legs. They needed to stock up on fresh water anyway.

Anamaria stood watch as the others carried water to the ship. Jack had failed in his search for a village to barter for rum. But just as well. She was tired of keeping him away from open flames.

A sound nearby caused the female pirate to come to attention. She clutched the flintlock rifle tighter, peering through the brush. A young man appeared from behind a tree, holding his hands up. Anamaria could tell at a glance that he had been shipwrecked. Wet, torn clothes, sandy face and weary look. She lowered the rifle, calling out, "Who be ye?"

The young man answered promptly, "Me name's Flagg, marm. Me 'n' my companions were washed ashore. We were wonderin' if ye could help us."

Anamaria called back over her shoulder, "Cap'n Sparrow!"

Jack swaggered over to the woman, looking Flagg over, "Hello, lad. You look bloody awful."

Flagg managed a lopsided grin, "Thank ye, sir. Cap'n Jack Sparrow, is it? 'Tis an honor."

Jack took it in mock modesty, "Oh, usually is. What can we do for ye?"

Flagg pointed over his shoulder, "Me mates an' I need help. Just passage to Tortuga would be appreciated."

Jack was a good soul, and always ready to help a fellow pirate…if he could gain something. But now he felt sympathy for Flagg. He knew what it was like to be stranded in a strange place. And he liked the young man already. He looked like a brave, strong lad.

"Aye, Flagg, ye can travel with us. An' yer mates as well."

Flagg bent his head thankfully and turned to fetch his companions.

Anamaria smiled, "'E's a good, strong lad, aye?"

Jack cleared his throat, putting his arm around Anamaria possessively, "Aye…bet 'e'd look fine durin' a spell in th' riggin'."

Anamaria grinned smugly, snuggling into the crook of Jack's arm. It was so easy to toy with him.

Paul was walking back and forth to get his strength back as Thatcher and Caleb sat at the base of a tree, toying with a pair of coconuts. Paul prayed that Flagg would come to no harm. The young man had insisted that he go on ahead of the others and scout.

Paul tripped and nearly fell as his foot struck something hard. Cursing, he stretched his ankle and looked down. A long, straight object protruded from the undergrowth. Curiosity arose in Paul, and a strange sense of…something else rose as well.

Bending down, the man uncovered the object. It was a sword in a good leather scabbard. He brushed away more vegetation, finding the hilt. It was a broadsword. A good strong one.

Paul's eyes widened when he saw the hilt. It was simple but sturdy, leather bound grip and crosstrees. But a shining red pommel stone was set at the top.

Paul gripped the hilt, drawing the blade from the scabbard slowly. He swung it slowly, deftly. It fit his hand well. Placing the sword back into the sheath, he unbuckled the belt still attached to it. He slung it diagonally across his back, feeling the comfort of a weapon fill him with hope.

Paul heard Flagg coming back through the trees. He turned as the young man emerged, a strong smile on his handsome face as he reported to his captain, "Found help, sir! Cap'n Jack Sparrow himself!"

Thatcher and Caleb stood, going over to the other two men. Paul nodded, "Ah, Sparrow, ye say! I sailed with 'im durin' me early career. Lead us to 'im, Flagg!"

Jack Sparrow and Paul Fletcher clasped hands. Jack grinned at his old shipmate, "Ah, Paul Fletcher! 'Tis good to see ye, mate! But I'm sorry to know ye've landed on hard times."

Paul shrugged, clapping Jack on the back, "'Tis how it all played out, no reason to dwell on it. Now things'll be right as rain. I've ye to thank fer that, young feller! Captain o' the _Black Pearl_! Far cry from cabin boy aboard the _Scully Rat_, ain't it?"

Jack chuckled, "Aye, that it is! Well, come aboard! I'm afraid we ain't got any rum for ye."

Paul made a face of mock sorrow, "Is that how ye treat a guest?"

Jack spread his hands, "I ain't hoardin' it, if that's what ye mean."

Paul grinned again, patting his friend's shoulder, "Aye, ye ain't one to lie about rum."

And with a full wind, fresh water, four new crewmembers and no rum, the _Black Pearl _set out to sea.

Davy Jones had almost given up hope. Maccus' search had proved fruitless. No sign of Bree whatsoever.

The captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ sat in his cabin, knowing he had to choose a heading. But Bree could be anywhere! He buried his head in his hands, anger and frustration making his temples throb. Was fate so cruel that it would force him to tear his heart out anew? He was distraught enough to do so, but he knew that wouldn't please Bree.

A timid knock on the door roused Jones. He called out gruffly, "Enter."

Jimmylegs, the bosun, came into the cabin, speaking in a low voice, "Cap'n, the _Black Pearl _is driftin' off the starboard beam. Should we fire on 'er?"

Jones leaped from his seat with surprising agility and swept past Jimmylegs, going to see for himself. He was right. The black sailed ship was there.

Jones still didn't like Sparrow. He knew the pirate was one of Bree's best friends, but that didn't ease any feelings between Jones and Sparrow. But Jones knew that the wise thing to do would be to employ Sparrow's help. Jack would want to help find Bree, he just knew it.

And without any further ado, Jones willed himself over to the _Pearl_.

_I hope I don't regret this_.

Flagg wasn't the only one surprised by the strange man's sudden appearance on the deck. The young man had been swabbing the deck when he looked up and was staring up into the icy blue eyes of a man the likes of which he had never seen before. A living beard of tentacles grew from the man's face and a large crab claw flexed near Flagg's face. A large broadsword hung at the man's hip, and when he moved, the barnacle crusted scabbard actually struck Flagg.

Flagg knew at once that this man was Davy Jones, the dreaded sea himself. Fear filled the young pirate. He was brave, but any sensible pirate would be frightened. He couldn't take his eyes off of Jones. Jones looked down at Flagg, his hard eyes narrowing. He spoke in a voice like the booming tide, his accent reminding one of highland or Scottish, "Where's Jack Sparrow?"

Flagg withered under Jones' stare, shrinking back. But he pointed, too intimidated to say anything. Jones took his penetrating stare from Flagg, turning to look for Jack. His eyes landed on Paul, who was standing beside Jack, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Jones was aware that everyone had stopped the work they were doing. He had that effect. His gaze shifted from Jack to Paul. He wouldn't have given the man a second glance had he not seen the man's sword. The red pommel stone caught the light, turning it into a bright, flashing red. His breath came out in a hiss.

_Bree's sword!_

Moving swiftly, Jones seized Paul's throat in his claw's vice-like grip, growling, "Where did ye get that sword?"

Paul was too terrified to speak. He couldn't have spoken anyway, as Jones' grip was tight enough to have squeezed the life out of him. But Jack didn't allow that to happen.

"I say, mate, ye're bloody well chokin' 'im. Bad form."

Jones loosened his grip, flicking his gaze over to Jack, "Who is this?"

Jack answered promptly. Even he didn't mouth off to Jones, "That is Paul Fletcher, sir. Recently joined the crew, so 'e did!"

Jones let go of Paul's throat, his eyes still hard. Sooner or later he would find out why Paul was carrying Bree's sword. But first he had to talk to Jack.

"Sparrow, she's missin'."

Jack knew Jones meant Bree. What other _she _would he talk about? Jack was immediately concerned, "Missin', ye say…since when?"

Jones looked around at the crew. He spoke in a quieter voice, "Can we talk in privacy?"

Jack made a strange hand gesture and opened the door to his cabin, ushering Paul in. Jones was about to protest, but Jack stopped him, "Paul's a friend, Cap'n. He might be able to help us."

Jones followed in, ducking his head under the doorframe. He took up a lot of space in the small cabin, but he wedged himself into a corner as best as he could. Then he spoke, "Now, no nonsense. I've never asked for yer help an' I never will again, but now is different…"

Jack folded his hands, nodding sagely, "Aye, we can all unnerstan' that, mate. She matters to all of us."

Paul sat beside Jack, staying quiet. He was still quaky with fear. Davy Jones himself! And he had no idea who this _she _was they were talking about. A ship, perhaps? Certainly not a girl…Davy Jones, caring about a girl?

Paul decided not to speak. Sometimes listening was enough. The feel of the sword's pommel stone pressed against his cheek as he sat down soothed him.

_Never thought I'd ever think it…_


	5. Fancy Words and Brutal Chains

Chapter V

Fancy Words and Brutal Chains

Thomas awoke, feeling the weight on his lap shift. The young girl called Bree was awake. She sat up slowly, moaning and pressing a hand to her forehead. She blinked, looking at Thomas, "Who're ye?"

Thomas grinned, "Don't remember?"

Bree held up her hand, then nodded slowly, "Aye…Thomas, ain't it?"

Thomas nodded, asking, "Ye feelin' better, Miss Bree?"

Bree rubbed her thighs tenderly, "Aye…me legs still feel numb…but I'm all right."

Thomas nodded again, patting her back, "Ye're a tough'un, Miss Bree. So…why are ye here?"

Bree blew a sigh, "Not sure, other than that Beckett wants information outta me. How 'bout ye?"

Thomas shrugged, "I'm a pirate. So are the rest here. We're all doomed to hang."

Bree's eyes flashed with anger and she clasped Thomas' hand, "We'll get outta here soon!"

Thomas laughed mirthlessly, "I've been 'ere for a week, Miss Bree. There's no way out."

Bree's face told him she wasn't one to just sit back and wait for death. She was a fighter, "We'll try, mate!"

One of the other prisoners called out scornfully, "Shut yer gob, whelp! Ye don't know what ye're sayin'!"

Bree snarled back, and Thomas saw the fangs. He gasped, "What happened to ye?"

Bree licked her fangs, grinning savagely, "These beauties? They're…battle scars, ye ken."

Thomas scooted away as far as his chains would allow. He kept an eye on Bree, who sobered and spoke in a softer voice, "I ain't mad, if that's what ye're thinkin'. I just want to help an' get free o' this place!"

Thomas opened his mouth to answer when the cell door swung open. Grafter stood in the doorway, calling in, "Well, missy, Lord Beckett wishes to see ye agin!" He laughed cruelly, stepping forward and reaching down to grab Bree. With a vicious snarl, the girl slashed him across the face with her claws. Grafter grunted, grabbing her wrist and bending it backwards at a painful angle. Bree groaned but wriggled like an eel. Grafter managed to wrap her chain around her neck, yanking her forward and out into the hallway.

Thomas was once again swallowed by the darkness as the door closed. He sighed, speaking to no one in particular, "We could use spirits like that."

Bree was forced to sit down in a straight-backed chair before Beckett's desk. She was chained around the middle, her arms pinned to her sides. She glared at Beckett, who folded his hands on his desk and began speaking in a deceptively friendly voice, "I'm sorry for the brutal treatment you received last night. I'm afraid Grafter is a bit overenthusiastic in his work. You'll have to forgive me."

Bree snarled, baring her fangs, "Ha! Forgive ye? Never, pig!"

Beckett stayed cool and continued speaking as if he hadn't heard Bree, "I'm sure you are hungry." He called towards the door and a young maid came in, bearing a tray. She set it down on a table. Then Beckett made a hand motion. A man came in, and Bree watched as he approached her. Beckett nodded, "Unchain her, Mister Mercer."

Mercer unchained Bree, who rubbed her sore arms, growling at Mercer and Beckett. Beckett simply gestured toward the tray. Bree looked towards it, a string of saliva sliding down her jaw to snap. A good leg of chicken or something lay steaming amid some fruit and bread.

Bree stood, going over to the food. She grabbed the leg of meat and sank her fangs in, ripping at it and gulping it down with a total lack of manners. Beckett was appalled by the animalistic manner in which the pirate ate. She certainly was a wild one. But she seemed as if she would be easy to break if she was so ready to take the food.

Bree sucked on the bare bones, now piercing the fresh fruit with her claws and eating it with the same lack of manners. Beckett spoke as she ate, "You can eat like this every day if you just tell me what I want to know. I would let you work in my household, or, if you wished, you could serve in my fleet. I take it you are a competent sailor?"

Bree dropped the food, looking up at Beckett, her eyes blazing. Her stained mouth tried to form words. She was furious, "Are ye tryin' to bribe me?"

Beckett walked over to the table. He poured a goblet of good wine, offering it to the girl, "You could say that. What young one wouldn't want to have a plentiful life?"

Bree took the wine goblet, looking down at it. Then, with a roar of rage, she flung the contents of the glass onto Beckett. Wine splashed onto his face and ran down his uniform. He was speechless with anger, and he raised his hand to strike the girl.

As Beckett's hand was flung towards her face, Bree ducked to the right, catching Beckett's hand in her hard grip and twisting his wrist backwards. A resounding snap was heard as Beckett's wrist broke under Bree's fierce strength.

Beckett screeched in pain, and Mercer ran forward, throwing the chain around Bree's neck. Beckett had tears of pain spurting from the corners of his eyes as he glared hatred at the girl, "You just made things harder for yourself! I'll get the information I want, but you won't live to see what I do with it!"

Bree struggled, but the chain around her neck constricted her movement. She growled, "Ye'll never get a word outta me, pig!"

Mercer struck the girl across the back of the head, but Bree had a surprisingly hard skull, and it only dazed her, but long enough for Mercer to strike her again, this time knocking her out cold.

Bree didn't regret what she had done, even though she suffered for it. She found herself chained to the floor, her back bared as Grafter stood over her, holding a pair of tongs. The sadistic man grinned wickedly, caressing a lock of Bree's hair as he spoke mockingly, "Feisty li'l thing, ain't ye? Pity 'bout all this…ah well, ye're givin' me a different form of entertainment! I'm obliged…"

With that, Grafter went to the furnace, picking up a clump of burning hot coals with the tongs. Grinning sadistically, he stood over Bree, dropping the coals onto her bare back. Bree had resolved not to cry out this time. Let Grafter see that he couldn't win!

Bree bit her lip so hard that her fangs went right through her skin. The pain was horrific! Burning coals…all over her back…

_It hurts!_

_Davy, it hurts!_

Grafter seemed slightly disappointed when the girl refused to make any noise. But he saw the pain in her face. Blood ran down her chin as she bit her lip, and tears swelled in her tortured eyes. He saw something else. Sorrow…ah, that was it. He knew that the girl was supposed to be Davy Jones' pirate wench or something of the type. She must be missing him.

Seizing the chance to cause her mental and emotional pain, Grafter went to the furnace to fetch more coals, speaking in a conversational tone, "Well, 'tis a pity Jones ain't here. Why doesn't 'e come to rescue ye? Oh…I know…"

He placed the coals on Bree's lower back. She bucked against her chains, her limbs convulsing in agony as foam formed at the corners of her mouth. Grafter knelt next to her, putting his face fractions from hers and forcing her to look into his cruel eyes, "He ain't comin'…probably found another girl, ain't he? Or 'e just doesn't care. Ye ain't worth all that trouble."

Bree let out a roar, making a strange movement with her neck and sinking her fangs into Grafter's face, her upper fangs under his left eye and her lower jaw under the right side of his lower lip. She dug in hard, feeling her limbs stretching as she pulled against her bonds. Grafter screeched in pain and surprise, leaping up. Bree held on tight, and both arms were pulled out of their sockets as the force carried her upward. Then she let go, falling back to the stone floor painfully, weeping with the pain and mental torture.

Grafter held his hand to his bleeding face, cursing and spitting at Bree. He kicked her sides, calling her all sorts of foul obscenities too horrible to repeat. Bree, however, was somewhere between consciousness and a fevered sleep. The pain was so intense she thought she was going to die.

_I wouldn't mind dyin' right now…_

Thomas was jerked from his sleep as the door slammed open and Grafter flung Bree in. Bree landed on top of Thomas in the darkness, moaning in pain. Thomas only got a glimpse of her in the brief light as the door closed. He gasped. Her chin was stained with blood, her bared back was splotched with ugly burn marks and her arms were limp at her sides.

Thomas took hold of Bree's torso, stroking her to soothe her. She was weeping, calling out feverishly, "Davy! Davy!"

Not knowing what this meant, Thomas shushed her, "Hush, Bree. 'Tis me, Thomas! Never fret, I'll fix ye up!"

Calling out to his cell mates, Thomas pulled Bree to a place where at least four of them could attend to the poor girl. Between them they managed to reconnect her arms to her shoulders and tore off enough cloth to bind her back. Thomas cleaned Bree's face.

The girl kept calling out for Davy. Thomas didn't know who this Davy was. A father? Brother? Friend? It didn't matter. The poor girl was delirious.

_Why should someone so young be put through so much pain and torture?_

Bree finally quieted, clutching her hands together as she slipped off into a light sleep. Thomas tried to pry her hands apart to rub them to keep the life in her, and as he did so he came across the ring still on her hand. Holding Bree's hand close, he inspected it. Ah…the girl was married. Or at least engaged. That must be who Davy was. A husband or fiancée. Pity, that. There was no knowing if this Davy would ever find Bree again…or if Bree would survive to be reunited.

Maybe she's right…no harm in tryin' to break free…someone this young is worth the risk.


	6. Bird of Ill Omen

Chapter VI

Bird of Ill Omen

Will Turner rubbed at his eyes with tired fists. He had been up long into the night, working away. He had to get an order done before the morning. It was well past midnight, and he was at last done. He groped through the dark into the bedroom. Elizabeth was in bed, waiting for him.

Will yawned, speaking, "Why are you still up?"

Elizabeth gave him a faint grin, "I figure this way you can't gripe to me in the morning about being up all night."

Will chuckled, leaning over and kissing her. He pulled by the covers and settled in beside her, ready to get some sleep.

Then the knock came. Will groaned. Who would be visiting this late? He rolled out of bed, going down to the door and opening it. He ducked down suddenly as something came flying into the room. He straightened, turning.

A large, blue parrot was perched on a chair, bobbing its head at Will. It began squawking out words, "Awk! Free the rudder!"

No one not closely associated with the crew of the _Black Pearl_ would have understood this seemingly meaningless phrase. But Will did. And he knew exactly how to react.

Going to the bedroom, Will spoke to Elizabeth in an urgent tone, "Get dressed and bring a sword. We're going to the harbor."

Elizabeth, not questioning him, rose, pulling on her clothes. She asked anxiously, "But what about Jack and Bree?" Here she was referring to their two infant children, named Bree and Jack. Will calmed her, "It's all right. Your father volunteered to take care of them tonight while I worked late, and I'm sure he'll keep them when he finds out we're gone."

Elizabeth grabbed her sword and handed Will his own blade. Then they headed for the door. Elizabeth saw the parrot, but Will stopped any questions by pulling her out the door into the night. The parrot squawked once, then flew off in front of the two, flashing its bright yellow plumage, leading them through the night.

Elizabeth saw the boat first. She whispered to Will, catching hold of his arm, "Look, Will! Someone's waving an oar to us!"

Will took hold of Elizabeth's hand, his other hand on his sword hilt as he approached the boat at the end of the dock.

A gruff voice hissed out to them, "'Urry up an' get in 'ere! We ain't got long!"

The parrot fluttered over to perch on the shoulder of the figure in the boat. Taking this as a good sign, Will climbed in, followed by Elizabeth.

The figure cast off from the dock, rowing out into the night.

Elizabeth couldn't see much in the darkness, and she after a while she became worried. They had been rowing for quite some time. But she trusted Will.

Then the ship appeared, looming out of the blackness like a phantom. Both Will and Elizabeth recognized it. The _Dutchman_!

The figure then shipped his oars, taking up the boat's line and casting it up. Then he rose, climbing upwards. Will went next, still keeping his hand close to his sword hilt. Normally he would be anxious about boarding the _Dutchman_, but the message brought by the parrot changed things.

Elizabeth was pulled up next. She stood beside Will, her eyes adjusting to the dark. She watched as Clanker, the one who had been rowing the boat, approached them. He spoke in a low voice, "Mates, Jones an' Sparrow sent for ye. We're to take ye to 'em."

Elizabeth and Will both looked at eachother. Jack Sparrow and Davy Jones working together? Was it possible?

Elizabeth sat in the hold with Will, whispering, "Well, are you going to tell me what's going on? Why were we sent for?"

Will held her hands, "Don't worry, nothing will happen to you. But…if I understand correctly…Bree's missing."

Elizabeth looked at him strangely, "You understood the parrot?"

Will grinned, "I think Jack is starting to rub off on me."

Elizabeth smiled, but sobered, "Well…I suppose we'll find out what's happened when we reach the others. I just hope…"

"I do too," Will said, "But Bree is…she's tough. I'm sure she's just stranded somewhere or…" He quieted. Where _would _Bree be? Her whole life was the sea! She wouldn't have run away, would she? No, ridiculous.

Elizabeth sighed, resting in Will's arms, "Do you mind if I get some sleep?"

Will breathed into her hair, "Go ahead. I'll wake you. I don't know exactly where we're going. But I doubt it's anywhere close."

Elizabeth kissed his cheek and then snuggled closer, drifting off into a light sleep.

Bootstrap sat down on a coil of rope, talking to Clanker, "Are they comfortable?"

Clanker nodded, taking a swig of some grog, "Aye, mate, don't ye fret. They're sleepin' now, so ye won't be able t' see yer son until mornin', I 'spect."

Bootstrap nodded, taking the bottle from him and taking a gulp. He hadn't seen his son since Bree and Jones' wedding. It had been a joy to see his new daughter-in-law and his two grandchildren. But he had to go back to his life aboard the _Dutchman_, which was now not as bitter with Bree aboard. Well…at least when she _was_ aboard. He felt the same pang of loss now, remembering that she was a slave, somewhere.

The parrot made a rather loud squawking noise and Clanker flinched. He flung the bottle at it, and it flapped a ways off, making raucous noises in protest. Clanker growled, "Arr, why did we let that devil come along with us?"

Bootstrap chuckled, "'Cause it's the only one who's got any brains, I suppose."

Hadras, the crewmember with a hermit crab shell around his head, joined the them, "We ain't that dumb, Bootstrap."

Bootstrap winked at Clanker, whispering so only he could hear, "We'll see 'bout that." He took a flat barnacle cluster from the deck, spitting on one side and speaking to Hadras, "How 'bout we do a spin, aye?"

Hadras nodded, "I'll win this time!"

Bootstrap nodded, indicating the barnacle cluster, "Dry side, I win, wet side, ye lose. Ready?"

Hadras, being the simpleton he was, nodded eagerly, "Aye! Toss it, already!"

Bootstrap tossed the cluster into the air, watching as it landed on the deck. Bootstrap grinned triumphantly, "Dry side, I win!"

Hadras cursed, taking the cluster and tossing it again to see how it would land.

_Crrrrack!_

The barnacle was snapped out of the air as Jimmylegs wielded his dangerous bullwhip, snarling at Bootstrap, Clanker and Hadras, "Stop lollygaggin' about an' go about yer duties!" He scowled fiercely, turning to look for some more unfortunate slackers to torment.

Bootstrap shrugged, knowing it was useless to defy Jimmylegs. The only one who had ever dared to truly defy him had been Bree. Bree was a wild one, unafraid of a monster like the bosun. Now Jimmylegs didn't dare do anything to Bree, as she was his captain's partner. However, when Jones wasn't present, Jimmylegs would often find ways to make things rough for Bree, who often fought back with either a harsh tongue or harsher blows. She wasn't short of grit, that was for sure, and she packed a powerful punch.

Jones normally allowed brawls among the crew, thinking it kept their spirits up, which was true. All were slightly fond of Bree, some more than others (Jimmylegs would _never _admit it), but every once in a while, a fight would break out, and Jones would allow it. Bree had a habit of ending up throttling her opponent, but if she ended up on the bottom, she took it stoically. Jones seemed pleased to see her with blood staining her fangs and a wild grin on her battered face. He liked seeing her wild side, and everyone knew it. It was what made Bree…Bree.

But now Bree wasn't there to defy Jimmylegs. Or to throw her famous punches. And everyone was missing her a bit. Even Jimmylegs. He had been far more irritable than usual.

Bootstrap, Hadras and Clanker were feeling the heaviest loss, excluding Jones. They were her three closest friends. Aye, Bootstrap was closer to her than Hadras and Clanker, and even a bit closer than Jones, only because he had been a father figure to her when she had been press ganged onto the _Flying Dutchman_. He knew things Jones didn't know, but then again, Jones knew things Bootstrap didn't know. Only fair.

Hadras spoke rather loudly, "D'ye think Miss Bree's dead?"

Clanker cuffed Hadras roughly, and the dull crewmember's head popped off of his shoulders and went rolling across the deck. Hadras' body went rushing after the head, and his mouth began shouting, "Oi! Aenido!"

Clanker waited for Hadras to be reconnected, then reprimanded him sharply, "Miss Bree ain't dead! First off, she can't die. Second off, she's too tough to die 'cause o' some ol' slaver. Thirdly, Jones'll find 'er! Just ye wait an' see!"

Bootstrap looked at Clanker, "We can pray that 'e does."

Clanker tilted his head, "Ye think he might not? I think 'e'd stab 'is heart out agin if 'e didn't find 'er. That girl means too much to 'im."

Bootstrap nodded, "I know…but that don't guarantee that 'e'll find 'er, does it?"

Clanker shrugged, "Mark me words…she's alive…I can feel it." His eyes narrowed, "An' Jones'll find 'er."

Morning came in all its splendor, pink fingers of dawn creeping across a yellowed sky as the golden eye of the sun pierced through the gray mists. Clouds fled the skies, making way for the monarch of the heavens.

Will woke, hearing Jimmylegs and Maccus bellowing out orders. He stirred, gently tapping Elizabeth awake. The young woman yawned, stretching stiff limbs and blinking her eyes several times, "Is it morning already?"

"I'm afraid so," Will said, slipping out from behind her and rising. He stretched his arms, then bent again, helping Elizabeth up, "You might want to stay down here until we reach Jack and Captain Jones. I don't know if I like the idea of you around all those _Dutchman_ crewmembers."

Elizabeth patted the sword hilt at her side, smiling, "Don't worry, Will. Besides, I want to see Bill."

Will smiled back, kissing her mouth softly, "Aye. He'll be anxious to know how the children are doing."

Bootstrap was scanning the horizon when Will and Elizabeth met him. He turned, smiling and hugging his son, "Ah, 'tis good to see ye, me boy." He then greeted Elizabeth, "An' ye as well, beauty. How are the young'uns?"

Will and Elizabeth began telling Bootstrap about his grandchildren, when Koleniko called out in a rough voice, "There's th' _Pearl_!"

The conversation broke off and all three ran to the railing to look. Sure enough, there was the black sailed ship, sails furled.

Cotton's parrot squawked and flew back towards the other ship.

Jones ducked his head as the blue parrot flitted right by him. He growled bad temperedly, going to the _Pearl_'s railing. He saw his ship coming fast. _Good…maybe Jack was right…maybe the boy _can_ help_.

Jack came out, going to stand beside Paul, who was sharpening his blade. Jones glanced over at the man, feeling irritation prick him. He didn't like seeing a stranger touch Bree's sword. He had tried to bring up the subject before, but Jack never let him, and Paul most likely wouldn't respond.

Paul looked up when Jones glanced at him. His eyes met Jones' cold gaze, and he quickly looked down again. There was such…hostility in the fearsome captain's eyes. It unnerved him. He spoke quietly to Jack, "So…about this girl we're goin' after…tell me more about 'er. Yesterday Jones shooed me out an' today ye've hardly spoken."

Jack nodded, sitting down next to his mate, "Well, mate, this girl's name is Bree. She's Jones' wife."

Paul's eyes widened, but Jack continued, "Anyway, she was captured by a slaver. Jones caught up wi' the slaver only a few days ago an' found out she was sold. So…that's all we know, but we have to do somethin'! Bree's a good mate o' mine. Good girl…good pirate. Broadsword fighter as well." He indicated Paul's sword.

Paul looked somewhat bewildered. Jack only thought it natural. Most men would find it strange that Davy Jones, the great Sea himself, had a female counterpart.

Will and Jack greeted one another, then Jack kissed Elizabeth's cheek in greeting, "Ah, me good mates, 'tis good to see ye all again. 'Fraid this ain't a happy reason for meetin', though, as Jones'll tell ye."

Jones stood back as the greetings swiftly drew to a close. He spoke in his booming voice, getting straight to the point, "Bree's been captured. She was on a slavin' vessel, an' the captain told me he sold 'er. I ain't any good on land. But there are too many islands in these waters to pinpoint where Bree is…." He began to look distressed again. He rarely showed any true emotions, but the loss of Bree was too much.

Jack took over, "So, mates, we'll have to put our heads together…as well as our swords."

Elizabeth and Will both nodded in agreement, letting all know they were in it together.

Jack nudged Jones with his elbow, winking, "Well, mate, we're off to save yer bonnie lass!" He withered as Jones glared down at him, growling, "We may be workin' together for now, Sparrow…but this is just for Bree, an' don't expect us to be on these terms once she's found!"

Jack scooted away, murmuring, "All that squid-ink must get to 'im."


	7. Music in the Gibbets: What You Want Most

Chapter VII

Music in the Gibbets and the Thing You Want Most

Bree was known for her temper. She was also known for her recklessness and hasty actions. But this was far too rash.

Beckett was hardly surprised when Bree was dragged into his office, kicking and growling like a wild beast. The chain was bundled around her arms, neck and wrists. She was too tangled to break loose.

Beckett rose, his arm in a sling. He looked up at Norrington, who stood to the side, "Well? What happened?"

Norrington looked slightly apologetic, "I'm sorry, Lord Beckett. We were going to hang that pirate Thomas Fletcher. We went into the cell to get him, but the moment I put the chains on him, the girl came barreling out of the shadows of the corner and sank her teeth into the nearest guard. I think she snapped his neck. But then, when we tried to get Fletcher out and keep the girl in, she got her claws around one of Fletcher's chains and actually managed to hook it to the wall manacles. She fought like mad. We had to leave off hanging Fletcher."

Beckett raised his eyebrows, "So why did you bring her here?"

Norrington spread his hands, "What should we do with her?"

Beckett thought for a moment, then said, "Hang her from a gibbet. Don't feed her, and let her know that now, Thomas Fletcher's life depends on her information. If she talks, we will release him, but if she doesn't, we will hang him. This has played to our advantage."

Norrington nodded obediently, not enjoying the prospect of hanging a girl from a gibbet. He thought it was a cruel punishment for anyone, even the vilest of pirates. But he followed orders. His honor and reputation meant too much to him.

Bree had her face pressed to the bars of the hanging cage. She had made the mistake of looking down. The drop was sickening, and she was sure the cage would fall. It swayed with the slightest movement and the motion made her feel sick. Nausea clouded her senses.

Trying to catch some sort of sleep, Bree tried to move her body to a slightly more comfortable position. All she could do was lean her back against the bars and prop her knees up. The sun beat down mercilessly, not only burning her but also heating the metal she was leaning against. But she tried hard to ignore this. She had to think.

They would kill Thomas if she didn't tell where they could find the heart.

_No…they won't kill 'im now! If they kill 'im, they'll have nothin' to bargain with!_

Bree felt a bit more comforted by this. But her thoughts were diverted when she heard a slight noise below her. She didn't want to look down for fear of vomiting, but she opened her eyes.

Bree found herself staring into a pair of lusterless black eyes. She opened her mouth, her yelp coming out in a hoarse croak. The owner of the pair of eyes shushed her, speaking in a whisper, "Quiet, now, liddle snake. I come ta help ya."

Bree felt confused as the strange woman began searching through a satchel. Tia Dalma? But how? Why? And…how was she up here?

Tia Dalma made a noise of satisfaction as she found what she was looking for. Taking an object out of her satchel, she put her hand through the bars of the cage and took Bree's scarred hand in her own. She then placed the object firmly in Bree's palm, withdrawing her hands.

Bree moved her hands in the cramped space to see what the object was.

_The music box!_

Bree looked up at Tia, her eyes wide and confused, "Tia…why…"

Tia shushed her again, "Hush, liddle snake. Ya needs it. Rememba dat Davy Jones can hear ya. I can' do anythin' else for ya, but this shoul' help."

Bree looked down at the music box again, tears of gratitude welling up in her tired eyes, "Tia…thank ye…"

Tia placed a hand on the bars, speaking again, "Goddess ya may not be, but sea maiden ya'll always be."

Bree looked up, only to see that Tia was gone. Bree curled herself up, tucking her head down and beginning to wind up the music box. Her hands were shaking and weak, so it took her a long time.

At last, the song began to play. Oh, how wonderful it was to hear Davy's song! It soothed her tired mind and made her forget the pain. She softly began singing the words she had given to the song, but her voice was so weak and hoarse that some words didn't come out all the way and the song was broken.

As the song finished, a strange thing happened. Waves always broke along the rocky cliff from which the gibbet dangled. But they never reached as high as the cage. A monstrously huge breaker came rolling towards the small cage, a wall of sea-green crested with white foam. It broke upon the rocks, sending spray upwards. The refreshing spray hit Bree, so cool, so soft…like a gentle caress of the sea.

Sea maiden indeed.

The charm worked.

Davy Jones had interrupted Jack's long explanation of things in his cabin as he sprang up with surprising agility, slamming his claw down on the desk. Everyone went stiff with surprise as he stared off into the distance, his ice blue eyes wide. No one knew what was happening…but they knew it was something.

Jones moved around the table, pushing against the cabin doors and striding out onto the deck. He went to the _Pearl_'s railing, staring off toward the horizon. His mind was whirling. _The song! _

Bree was calling him.

But from where, he did not know. He could hear the music, only faintly, but had no idea where it was coming from. He fought back the frustration as the others came out to join him.

Elizabeth looked up at Jones, daring to speak, "What…what is it?"

Jones didn't answer her, still trying to concentrate. When asked again, he spoke without looking down, "Bree…she's callin'…" His shoulders slumped suddenly, "…it stopped…"

Jack cleared his throat, "Er…wot d'yer mean?"

Jones glanced down at Jack, "The music box…an'…an' Bree was singin' too!" His hard eyes hinted at sorrow and concern, "She sounded weak an' sick!"

Will remembered the incident so long ago. Bree, after she had been captured by Davy Jones, had escaped the _Dutchman_ and come to Tortuga with Jack. That was where the young blacksmith had met the girl. While there, she had showed him the music box. She had also told him of Jones' strange connection to it and the ability to hear it whenever it was played.

Will spoke, "Captain…do you have any idea where the sound is coming from?"

Jones shook his head slowly, "It stopped…"

All were someone frightened, now. Not only had Jones' words about Bree's supposed condition worried them, but the sight of him now was unnerving. His shoulders were slumped and his tentacle beard hung limply. He looked…hopeless…

But hope springs eternal. And it now came in the form of Flagg. The young pirate came up to the group, tapping Paul on the shoulder. Paul turned, "What is it, mate?"

Flagg whispered, "Will ye tell me what's been happenin' or no?"

Paul grinned, "Aye, sorry, m'boy. Been a bit caught up in things. Ye might prove to be a help in this venture. We're goin' to find a girl…Jones' girl, I reckon. Her name's Bree. Accomplished pirate, they say."

Flagg's eyes widened, "Bad Luck Bree?"

The group turned to Flagg, even Jones. Jack spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, "Actually, it's Broadsword Bree, now…" Jones pushed his way through to the young man, asking in a harsh voice, "How much d'ye know 'bout 'er?"

Flagg, for once, was not intimidated by Jones' presence. He began speaking, "Well, mates, I know Bree personally. Grew up with 'er, actually. We used t' pinch rum barrels from the tavern an' roll 'em out behind the pig pen. Used to have contests to see who could drink the most." He chuckled fondly, "She always won…but she left Tortuga when she was eight an' I was twelve. Stowed away on a merchant ship, so she did. I only saw 'er a few more times in Tortuga. She was crewin' the _Goresail_ an' was a well-known pirate. She carried a broadsword like…well, like th' one Cap'n Fletcher's got!" He indicated the sword Paul wore.

Jones took this time to point out, "That _is _Bree's sword…" He said this with unmasked hostility.

Paul looked taken aback. He unsheathed the sword, looking at it. All eyes were on him. He looked up, meeting Jones' gaze and saying, "This…this was _my_ sword when I was a young man."

Jones felt his mouth go dry. He thought back to long ago. He had once challenged Bree to a fencing match. He had complimented her sword. What was it Bree had said?

_"It was my father's."_

Paul continued, "I…I was the captain o' the _Bloodsail_ in my younger, wilder days. I gave th' sword to me wife, Mary, who was livin' at Tortuga, as a promise that I would return to 'er. Then I was away for a few years. I came back to Tortuga, only to find that she was dead. An' the sword was gone."

Jones found his tongue, asking in a hoarse whisper, "Did yer wife have a child afore ye left?"

Paul's eyes widened, "Aye…a girl."

Jack and Will exchanged glances. Then they looked back to Jones, who was slack-jawed. "What was 'er name?"

Paul shrugged, "I left afore Mary named 'er. Why?"

Jones leaned on the rail. Paul had captained the _Bloodsail_, had a daughter, left a broadsword…_he was Bree's father_.

A sarcastically humorous thought entered unbidden into his mind. _An' my father-in-law!_

Jack was the one who explained everything to Paul, "Er…mate, I believe Bree is…well, I believe she's that unnamed daughter, savvy?"

Paul's facial expression now mimicked Jones'. Disbelief was in his eyes, "Surely ye're mistaken, mate."

Now both sea captains reflected on the sudden knowledge that they were kin. It might have been comical. In fact, it _was_.

The awkward silence that followed was broken by Gibbs' voice as he called out to Jack, "Cap'n! I found it! Funniest thing, too! It was at the bottom o' the last empty water barrel. Wonder 'ow it got there!"

Gibbs stopped as he saw the faces of Jones and Paul. He whispered to Jack, "Er…bad time?"

Jack took the object from his hands and patted him on the back heartily, "No, 'tis fine. I think ye just solved somethin' for us, too."

Clearing his throat, Jack addressed the gathered group, "Mates…we've found our heading."

Everyone turned to Jack, confusion evident. Elizabeth spoke, "What do you mean, Jack? We don't even know where we're going."

Jack nodded, "We do now, luv. Now, Captain Jones, ye haven't come across me luverly compass afore, now have ye?"

Jones took the proffered compass and flipped it open. He sneered scornfully, "It don't point north. Shouldn't 'ave put it past ye, Sparrow."

Jack laughed, "Aha…I've 'ad to explain this countless times. It doesn't point north…but it points somewhere, savvy?" He nodded to Elizabeth, "Why don't ye tell 'im, luv?"

Elizabeth smiled, "Jack…I'm proud of you…" Then she addressed Jones, "The compass points to the thing you want most. And I believe we all know exactly what you want most in the world, am I not right, Captain?"

Jones looked down at the compass. The needle was pointing in a solid direction.

"Compasses, parrots…I could swear ye were born with all yer gimmicks mastered, Sparrow," Jones said with a growl, but he felt hope rising in him.

Jack pressed his hands together, nodding, "Aye, well, I think me father was a clergyman, once."

Will smiled, speaking to Gibbs, "Well, I suppose we have a direction now, aye?"

Gibbs' face broke into a broad smile, "Aye, lad, that we do!" And with that, he set about giving orders to the crew. They had a direction.

Jones certainly knew what he wanted most. He and Bree were very similar in that way.


	8. The Sirens

Chapter VIII

The Sirens

Tia Dalma had just risked her life.

Taking the music box to Bree was no hard task. She knew the seas as well as Davy Jones himself. But she had just broken an ancient law placed on her. She had been cursed to remain away from the sea. Never was she to travel over the great waters. And now she had broken that law. And she knew what would happen.

The Sirens were coming for her. She could feel it. And this began causing her more confusion.

Why on earth had she gone to help Bree, the girl she despised?

_A sense of right and wrong?_

Guilt…maybe it was causing her to try to fix things?

Well, it didn't matter now. Her time was coming. The Sirens had warned her long ago. They would tear her to pieces if she went against the ancient laws set down by the gods of the sea. Those gods were long since replaced. But the Sirens were still there. And they were as vengeful as ever.

Sitting crouched in the niche of the base of the sea cliff, Tia enjoyed the feel of the sea spray washing against her. How long had it been since she had felt the sea? She had longed for it.

Tia looked up, her keen ears picking up sounds. They were coming. The Sirens. She couldn't run. She wouldn't have gotten far. The only way to escape the Sirens was to get as far inland as possible. But she had no time.

Angling her head upward, Tia looked up at the dangling gibbet. What about Bree? The Sirens' way of taking their prey might affect the young girl as well. Bree was somewhat immortal, but the Sirens didn't simply kill mortals…they captured souls of immortals as well.

Tia turned back to the noises, seeing three forms emerge through the fog of the falling night. They were still a fair way off, but approaching swiftly. They would be here soon…come to fetch Tia's disobedient soul.

Bree heard the sound as well. It was soft and gradual, but it began growing louder…loud enough to notice.

The young girl lifted her tired eyes, looking out towards the horizon. That's when she saw them. Three forms coming through the twilight darkness. And the noise grew steadily louder. A type of music, but music made without an instrument. Made with the voice.

Singing…singing without words. Just one long, loud wail. Bree was sure it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. So soft…so soothing…she could have listened to it forever. It grew closer and closer.

Bree watched the three forms, longing to know what they were. They were the source of the beautiful noise, and she wanted to know who could make such a lovely song. She strained her eyes. At last they came close enough to see. And Bree liked what she saw. She was already under the influence of the seductive song.

Each figure had the face and neck of a beautiful woman. Long, flowing hair, black as the night, blew in the wind as the creatures all landed to perch on the edge of the cliff, only a stone's throw away from Bree's cage. They all had the wings of swans, pure white and beautiful, folding over their backs. Their arms were snow white, like Helen of Troy herself, and each had a long plumed tail. They continued singing, and Bree couldn't take her eyes off of them.

These were the Sirens.

They looked down into the sea far below, their song now changing. It sounded so kind, so soothing, and words began forming. Bree listened as they sang.

"Burdens you carry, wars have you seen,

cruelty and danger, you know them well.

Flee this dark life, waking no more,

let soft sleep o'ercome thee, and dream fore'ermore."

Bree felt the overwhelming desire to listen to the Sirens forever inflame her. She felt tears building in her eyes as the dark magic worked in her heart. The song continued, the tone changing to a lullaby-like sound.

"Sleep shall free you, giving you peace,

Our song shall go on, resting your soul.

Let the hands touch you, closing your eyes,

Ne'r shall you wake, for death's kiss seals all."

Then Bree's eyes strayed down below her. She stopped, seeing a figure swimming to the base of the cliff. Tia Dalma! She began scaling the cliff, an amazing feat. How she was accomplishing it was never known to Bree, but she was scrambling up like a mad person, frenziedly trying to reach the Sirens. The monsters were carrying out their job well.

And then the song changed. The wordless wailing continued, but the tone became wilder, sinister and harsh. And the Sirens themselves changed. Fangs sprouted from their mouths, blood seemed to appear on their lips. Their hair separated into braids and changed to writhing, hissing serpents. Hair sprouted from their arms and their legs changed to the haunches of some beast and their beautiful plumed tails changed to the tails of serpents. Their beautiful swan wings were corrupted into leathery bat-like wings. Their eyes turned blood-red, shining with evil intent.

All three Sirens leaped from the edge of the cliff, swooping down, wings folded and claws outstretched as they dove towards Tia Dalma, howling out their song, now taking a savage turn.

"Come to death, know our claws,

Feel our fangs, meet your doom.

You broke the code, scorned the laws,

Feel the blood flow as we eat your soul!"

And then the spell on Bree was broken. This new song had no effect on the young pirate. And she watched in horror as the monsters swooped down upon Tia Dalma, who had helped her! She had to help! But how?

_Sing!_

Instantly obeying this impulse, Bree opened her mouth and began singing at the top of her lungs. The weakness of her throat left her. The girl had a fine voice, and she could project like none other. Her lungs were like a bellows, and she belted out an old war song they sang aboard the _Dutchman_.

"I'm as wild as the wind an' as strong as the tide,

Gore fore'er coat me blade, blood fore'er stain.

None have ever bested me, many men have tried,

But all have failed an' understood when they were all slain.

Gore an' blood quench me, I feed off guts an' bones,

Me flag o' truce is moth-eaten, riddled with disuse.

True soldier o' the seas, fightin' under Davy Jones,

No quarter, no backin' down an' acceptin' no excuse.

I carry out me orders with cruel an' savage glee,

Me sword is never dry an' draws blood with every swing.

I scoff at all the cowards who drop their blades an' flee,

They tremble in their boots when they hear the song I sing."

The song did the trick. Bree saw the three forms of the Sirens wheel round, their savage eyes looking up at her. Fear struck her. They caught another draft and began winging their way towards her! But she kept singing, her voice drowning out even the roaring tide. Between a verse or so, she would cry out, "Tia! Get inland!"

She kept her eyes on Tia, who was no longer under the Sirens' spell. They could no longer be heard with Bree's voice blasting out above them. And Bree kept singing, watching as Tia dove into the water, not resurfacing until she reached land. The Sirens went after her again, circling above her.

Bree felt the cage shudder as one of the Sirens grazed past her. She watched as the other two neared her. Reaching through the gaps in the bars, Bree managed to snag the second Siren with her claws, digging in deep. She felt the Siren tugging to break loose, and she was sure her arms would snap. But she pulled the Siren closer, holding on as tight as she could. The Siren let out a screech.

The other two monsters turned in the air to see their sister. They headed for the gibbet, intent on freeing their fellow monster.

Bree sucked in her breath as claws slashed out at her arm, cutting deep into her flesh. But she dug her own claws in deeper, keeping tight hold of the first Siren. The monster swiveled her head, snapping at Bree's hand, and one or two of the snakes wound around her wrists, hissing and darting through the bars at her face.

Bree held on grimly, hoping with all her heart that Tia would take advantage of this distraction. She glanced down, seeing that Tia was no longer there. She must be heading farther inland. Good. Bree didn't know how far she would have to go, but she hoped it wasn't too far. The skin on her arm was frayed to tatters by the Sirens' frenzied claws.

At last, Bree had to let go. She wrenched her claws free of the Siren's flank, withdrawing to the back of her cage. The Sirens all wheeled around her cage now, shrieking out at her in rage. They had been cheated of their victim. Now they sang in the same, savage voices.

"May the sea rot your bones, may fish feed off your flesh,

No one steals the gods' victims and go without penalty.

The sea shall be your enemy and lead to your demise,

You'll speak the name and curse it, the Siren's never lie."

Bree lashed out once more, catching the lead Siren on the muzzle. She laughed roughly, calling out in a strong voice, "You make up songs for every occasion? Let me try!" And with that, she improvised a taunt.

"This curse ye set upon my head can do no good at all,

The waves break upon yer island, snuffin' out immortal life.

The sea has always been my friend, he'll listen to my call,

Ye witches cannot touch me, for I'm Davy Jones' wife!"

Once more, the Sirens made that horrible screeching noise, cheated of yet another victim. Even the Sirens were no match for Davy Jones, the Sea himself. They wheeled away, shamed and enraged. For the first time, the deadly Sirens had been defeated. All because of the gift of a simple music box.

Bree didn't know it, but her song had been audible inside the dungeon and the fortress itself. Thomas and the other prisoners all listened as she sang, feeling the hair on the backs of their necks rise.

Thomas shuddered, "She must be half mad by now!"

Another prisoner sighed, "Aye, bein' up there all day in th' brutal heat. Poor girl."

Thomas stifled tears as he spoke sorrowfully, "I'm the one to blame. She's up there 'cause she tried to help me!"

His fellow prisoner shook his head, "It ain't yer fault, mate. It's Beckett's an' none other's."

An older fellow slumped in the corner called out, "He'd be cryin' even if it weren't 'is fault! I think our friend is in love wi' Miss Bree!" Chuckles came from several of the other prisoners.

Thomas felt his face flush. He snarled out defensively, "No, never! Don't ye know the girl's married?"

The older prisoner shrugged, enjoying Thomas' embarrassment, "Aye, but who's to stop ye? Is the husband 'ere? No."

Thomas felt rage burning away at his insides, "I ain't in love with 'er!"

The prisoner shrugged again, curling up in his corner. He spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by all before going to sleep, "Ye'd make lovely children."

Thomas flung an empty gruel bowl at the man but missed. He settled down to sleep, but he was so heated by anger and embarrassment that he had to just lie there.

The very idea of him being in love with Bree! It wasn't true at all! Aye, she was a pretty girl. Very pretty, and tough and brave as well. But he simply admired her. She was his friend. And even if he had loved her, he would've been loving in vain. Bree would whimper in her sleep, calling out for 'Davy'. She was obviously very much in love with her husband, whoever he was. But then…what if she was whimpering and calling out the name because…she connected him to the pain she was always feeling?

Maybe Davy was an abusive husband? She might be having recurring nightmares of the man beating her. She would always wake up suddenly, normally with a sudden cry. Maybe that was what tortured her mind. She would never speak of it with Thomas.

This caused Thomas to think. If they ever escaped, Thomas would want to meet this Davy. If he was an abusive man, he would take Bree far away from him. Maybe…maybe he would marry her then. But…but no! Thomas didn't _want _to marry Bree! He had no desire to marry her!

_But if I had to…for her sake…_

Bree had been released from the gibbet. When her song had been heard, Beckett assumed the same thing Thomas had; that the girl was going mad. So he sent for her to be taken down. They found her slumped to the side, blood coating her arm. She had a strange grimace on her face, half sneer half smile. It certainly made her _look_ mad.

Bree couldn't stand when she was taken from the gibbet. She had to be carried to Beckett's office. She couldn't fight either. Her limbs were cramped, sore and totally useless, like they were filled with lead. Her head lolled to one side.

Norrington walked behind Grafter, who was carrying Bree slung carelessly over his shoulder. Pity stabbed through Norrington as he viewed the girl. Hadn't the poor whelp suffered enough? When he had seen her on that slave block, he hadn't thought about how cruelly she would be treated. Maybe being sold as a slave would've been better for her.

As she was carried along, Bree's mind was drifting between consciousness and a fever dream.

_I wonder why my name ain't Bad Luck Bree anymore?_

If she had known what Davy Jones was doing at that moment, she wouldn't have wondered.

Jones had returned to the _Dutchman_. The ghost ship was headed in the direction the compass had pointed, closely followed by the _Pearl_. They had no idea where they were going, but things began to fall into place when another ship was sighted, headed in the opposite direction.

Jones stood at the bow, looking through his glass at the oncoming ship. The dawn was just breaking, and the slight glare from the water dazzled him for a moment. He finally discerned the ship's colors; a blue sail with four letters incorporated into a familiar symbol. E, I, T, C.

What was it Kabar had said? Bree had been sold to an official looking Englishman?

"Make ready the guns! Arm yerselves, lads!"

Crippling the ship and killing the crew was short work for the _Dutchman_ boys. Of course, the crew of the _Pearl_ weren't there in time to take part. But they managed to board the crippled ship when most of the dirty work was already done. Jack, Gibbs, Will, Elizabeth, Flagg and Paul were all glad of that. They weren't overly fond of slaughter, no matter how justified it be.

Jack spotted Jones hauling a man by the neck. Obviously the man was the captain as seen by his brocade. Jones was snarling in his face, "What d'ye know of Bree? Speak!"

Jack sighed. Jones was so caught up in his rage that he wasn't acting sensibly. Stepping gingerly over carcasses and splintered wood and wrecked rigging, Jack tapped Jones on the elbow, "'Scuse me, Cap'n. Not a very good way to go about gettin' what ye want. Let me take over."

Flagg and Paul watched as Jack spoke a few words to the terrified man, making the odd gesture with his hands. At last, Jack turned to Jones, a satisfied smirk on his face. Flagg leaned in to whisper to Paul, "Wot did Sparrow do?"

Paul chuckled, "'E's a silver-tongued rogue. 'E just got 'is information in no time at all. C'mon, let's go see." Paul was now doubling his efforts in the expedition. It was only natural. It was the rescue of the daughter he had never known!

Jack was lowering the surviving longboat into the water, patting the ship's captain on the back, "Right, mate. Land ain't too far off, aye? We'll allow ye some provisions an' ye can row yer little boat safely to land." He flashed the man a grin. He was gallant even in victory.

Paul sidled up to Jones, clearing his throat to announce his presence. Jones glanced down at him, quickly looking back up. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to his…_father-in-law_.

But Paul spoke anyway, "Sir? What did the man say?"

Jones spoke gruffly, "Beckett…he's got Bree in 'is dungeons." He gripped the railing with his claw, snarling, "They're keepin' her prisoner, questionin' 'er about me heart! Mark me words, when I get my hands on that snivellin' Beckett, I'll let the daylight shine through 'is miserable hide!"

Paul nodded grimly, "Ye'd best let me have a crack at 'im! Anyone who kidnaps my daughter don't get away with it!"

Jones turned on Paul, his eyes growing cold. He was a very jealous and possessive man, "Why should ye care? Ye never even met 'er!"

Paul met Jones' eyes, never flinching as he answered, "She's me daughter! Every father has a feelin' of love for their child! I love Bree more than ye can imagine, even if I never met 'er. An' I hope I will meet her soon."

Jones could guess Bree's reaction to meeting her father, "She'll hate ye, Fletcher. Ye left 'er an' her mother to fend for themselves!"

Paul's confidence flickered. Jones was right. He wasn't sure how Bree would react. "But she's a pirate. She'll understand how I had th' fever to be sailin' again."

Jones growled, "I think Bree would stay for someone she loved." _She stayed on th' Dutchman for me._

Paul looked away, his confidence shattered. When he had said he loved Bree as a father should, that was true. There was never a day he didn't think about his children. He had three. His two boys were accomplished seamen now. He saw them from time to time in Tortuga. But he hadn't even known of Bree was alive. Now she was…and he felt a longing to meet her…to tell her that he was sorry…and to tell her he was proud of her.

Bree had finally regained enough strength to stand. She stood before Beckett again, her head down. She was exhausted. Norrington had been kind enough to allow her a slow drink of water. But she was still too weak to move properly.

Beckett got up from his desk and walked around to Bree's side. He began speaking, "Well, girl? Have you been convinced that your silence does no good? You will never be free, and your friend will die if that foul little tongue of yours doesn't loosen up."

Bree spoke, her voice hoarse and cracked, "Jones will come for me…"

Beckett laughed wickedly, "I'm sure he would break his curse to find a little rat like you?"

Bree raised her head with some difficulty, snarling, "Ye don't frighten me. An' I ain't given up hope! Ye'll get what ye deserve for threatenin' my friends an' Davy Jones!"

Beckett stood in front of the girl, his face contorted into an ugly snarl, his patience fraying. He sneered at her, "And where is your beloved Jones, now, eh, girl? He can't touch me on land!"

Bree cast her eyes down, knowing he was right.

Beckett spread his good arm out, but suddenly stopped. Something was forming on his palm. An ugly black sore appeared there, an unhealthy, pussy coloring, mixing in with bloody purple and black. He yelled in alarm.

Bree saw the mark appear. A wicked smile spread slowly across her face. Her eyes gleamed in malicious delight.

Beckett saw the look in the girl's wild eyes. He grabbed her chin in his bad hand and held his palm before her face, snarling, "You know what this is about, don't you! What is it?"

Bree wrenched her face away, that satisfied, grim smile still giving her hardened face an intimidating look. She spoke in a growling tone, "That's the Black Spot. A death sentence, and a warnin'. Jones will kill ye. He knows where I am."

"Liar!" Beckett shrieked, striking the girl across the face. She didn't flinch or cry out. She kept speaking in that low, frightening voice, "Don't doubt the power of Davy Jones. He'll either drag ye to the depths or tear ye limb from limb, or maybe even hang ye from a gibbet for yer own crows to pick at. What say ye to that, little toad?"

Beckett looked down at the Black Spot, fear making his blood freeze. By the intensity of the girl's voice, he began to believe her.

Without being dismissed, Bree turned, stumbling to the door. As she exited, the two guards took hold of her arms, preparing to take her back to the dungeon.

Beckett sat down in his chair, a cold sweat breaking out over his brow. He looked down at the horrid mark again.

_He comes now…drawn with ravenous hunger to he what behas the Black Spot._


	9. Lord hates a liar

Chapter IX

"Lord hates a liar."

Sometimes Dame Fortune can be very cruel. She can tinge joyful happenings with serious consequences.

Such was the case…as you shall soon see.

Bree sat slumped in her corner, listening to the snores of her fellow prisoners. She couldn't sleep. Her back ached and her limbs were still stiff. She tried to stretch, but her chains prevented it.

Thomas stirred, looking over at her. His eyes widened, "Miss Bree!" He had been asleep when she had been returned to the cell. Sitting up, Thomas scooted closer to her. He reached out and took her hand, "Are ye all right? What happened?"

Bree looked at him, a weary smile crossing her scarred features, "Ah, well, mate, I'll tell ye. Beckett's got it comin', so 'e does."

Thomas tilted his head to the side, not quite understanding, "What d'ye mean, mate?"

Bree closed her eyes, her smile growing steadily wider, "The Black Spot…"

Some of the prisoners who weren't asleep heard her. Every pirate knew of the Black Spot. A loud scraping of multiple chains on stone was heard as they all scooted closer to Bree, urging her on.

"Black Spot, ye say, mate?"

"Go on, missy!"

"Aye, tell us! Is ol' Cutler gonna get it?"

Bree opened her eyes, nodding slowly, "Aye…Davy heard the music box…he'll find me an' free us all!"

Thomas unintentionally gripped Bree's hand tighter at this. He felt a slight pang at these words. So…Davy was going to free Bree, eh? He must love her…and she must love him.

Thomas was surprised at his own feelings. He didn't feel jealous. Just a bit…protective. Perhaps because he was so taken with Bree…as a friend, that is. He wouldn't want to see her hurt by anyone.

Thomas held Bree's hand, running his finger over the ring she wore, "This Davy…what's 'e like? Ye never really told us about 'im."

Bree smiled, closing her eyes again and sighing, "He's the sailor of all sailors…lord o' the sea…master o' the waves…"

Thomas now knew for certain that Bree loved her husband dearly. Good…when she was rescued she would be safe.

"But who gave Beckett the Black Spot?"

Bree raised her head, looking at Thomas, "Davy…that's what I said."

Thomas raised his eyebrows, "He's here? In the fort?"

Bree shook her head, "No…'e can't leave the sea, but 'e'll save us…just ye wait…"

One of the prisoners spoke up, "I hope it's soon. We're all due to be hung in a few days."

Bree took something from the folds of her jerkin and placed it on the floor. Music came from the small object, filling the stiff air. It was a melancholy tune, beautiful and soothing. Bree closed her eyes, lying down, her body curled around the music box. Suddenly, a spasm shook her. Her face screwed up in pain and she clutched at her stomach.

Thomas put his hand on Bree's side, "Are ye all right, mate?"

Bree nodded, pulling closer into a curled position. She tensed several times, and Thomas, slightly concerned for her, lay down next to her, angling his body around her. He did it so he was not touching her in any way or making any suggestions, but so he was close enough to be there if anything should happen.

Both drifted off into a light sleep. Bree was racked by the light pain spasms, and Thomas kept himself alert in case things turned serious. The music lulled them both, and speculation began running wild among the prisoners.

But fortunately, all was false.

Thomas loved Bree…but only as a friend.

Grafter snapped the cork from a barrel, tipping it over and letting seaweed grog fill his tankard. He stopped up the hole again and raised the tankard to his lips. He took a deep swig, screwing up his face as he swallowed.

A big, hairy fellow named Scorch, only a bit taller than Grafter, was sitting in the corner. He laughed hoarsely, "Ain't too good, is it, mate?"

Grafter smacked his lips, trying to rid his tongue of the foul swill, "Aye…this stuff'll rot the very brains in ye…pity we ain't got any proper grog."

Scorch snorted in amusement, "Beckett's got all th' good stuff fer himself."

Grafter dumped out the grog, throwing the tankard at the wall. Turning back to his companion, he spoke, "He's been actin' strange…keeps lookin' out at the sea an' talkin' to himself."

Scorch scratched himself, "Who cares…oi, what about that girl?"

Grafter grinned wickedly, "Shouldn't be too long afore she cracks. She was 'alf dead when we got 'er down from the gibbet! Mad, too. I heard her singin' bloody war songs."

Scorch's cruel eyes gleamed with a type of twisted admiration, "Bloody, ye say? She a fighter?"

Grafter nodded, grinning again, "Aye, a wild 'un, that she is! Nothin' I can't handle, though. But she's got strength an' a fightin' spirit most men would envy."

Scorch licked his lips, "Ah, sounds like a fine woman! Pretty too, aye? I saw her once…blond hair, small. She's got a nice fire in 'er eyes."

Grafter pushed Scorch and snorted derisively, "Ach, ye'd think she was goddess o' love herself after ye saw her curves! Only thing she's good for 'is floggin'. That's fun."

Scorch shrugged, not really caring what happened to the girl, "Whatever ye say, mate. Wouldn't be that bad to get a nice hold on 'er, though."

Grafter spat at Scorch, mock scorn showing as he teased him, "Aye, why don't ye go to 'er cell an' tell her that yerself? I'm sure that Thomas Fletcher wouldn't let ye near her. 'Sides, I doubt even ye could handle that girl. She's Davy Jones' wench."

Scorch grinned, "Arr, shame, ain't it? Girls are more fun when they've got that fire in 'em."

Grafter clapped his mate on the back, laughing crudely, "Aye, that they are! If this girl weren't a prisoner I would've handled 'er differently." Both men broke into rude laughter at this horrid remark.

Norrington stood before Lord Beckett, awaiting orders. Beckett was somewhat flustered, but he still spoke with that haughty air he always had, "We are going to break that girl once and for all. I want you and that big fellow, what's his name, Grafter, to chain her to the post in the parade ground. Then, call all the men. We'll give them all a little bit of entertainment." Here an unpleasant grin came to the man's face. Norrington didn't like it. But he nodded, turning to obey.

Norrington was headed up to find Grafter when he heard the tail end of the conversation going on between him and Scorch. Norrington felt indignation prick him. Being a true gentleman, he didn't like hearing any woman talked about this way. He decided to end it.

Grafter and Scorch both jumped to attention as Norrington entered. Norrington nodded to them, speaking to Grafter, "Mister Grafter, will you come with me, please?" Now he spoke to Scorch, "Would you please gather all the men together? Tell them to wait in the parade ground."

Norrington had no idea what Beckett was planning to do, but he knew one thing.

Bree's honor was at stake.

Flagg sat at the bow of the _Flying Dutchman_, looking out over the waves. They were speeding forward, closing in the distance fast. Flagg had no idea where they were going, but he was certain of one thing. He was going to see Bree again! Bree…his old friend.

Flagg thought back to years ago. He remembered Bree as being a high-spirited lass. She was feisty, tough and given to picking fights with boys bigger than herself. She liked dogs and cats and adored horses. He remembered the times the two of them would go for stolen rides across the cliff tops of Tortuga at nighttime.

Flagg smiled, anticipation pricking him. It would be good to see her again. And now his thoughts turned to the irony of it all. How funny that his childhood friend was now the wife of the feared Davy Jones.

Flagg turned, seeing Jones standing at the railing, his piercing blue gaze fixed on the waves as if willing the _Dutchman_ to go faster.

Flagg was currently on the _Dutchman_ to stay and help Will, who was also on the ship to be with his father. Flagg stood, going to stand at the rail beside Jones. The captain didn't acknowledge Flagg, but Flagg spoke, "Sir, how is Bree these days? Er, well…I mean, how was she last time ye saw 'er?"

Jones didn't look away but answered, "As fit as a flea an' as fierce as ever."

Flagg grinned, speaking again to overcome his nervousness, "Aye, Bree was allus a fierce one. I remember once a mad dog jumped on 'er one night in Tortuga. There was one less drunk creature to worry about by midnight."

Jones couldn't help a flicker of a smile. Ah, that was his Bree! As wild as he was! But now his eyes darkened, "I just pray she's safe…"

Flagg looked across the waves, saying solemnly, "Anyone who hurts my friend'll have to answer to me." He looked up at Jones, "So ye'd best get to our man Beckett pretty fast."

Thomas awakened to the sound of Bree's voice. She wasn't really saying anything, just mewling in pain. Her face was stoic but he could tell she was in pain or discomfort. Sitting up, Thomas shook the girl awake, "Bree…Bree, sit up a minute."

Bree woke, letting Thomas pull her into a sitting position. Thomas let Bree lean her forehead against his chest, patting her back softly. He spoke in a whisper, "What's wrong, Bree? Where d'ye hurt?"

Bree, not trying to hide it, said hoarsely, "My stomach…it hurts…"

Thomas propped Bree's head up, looking down at her stomach. He was concerned. Poison? Maybe an internal wound?

"Sit up against the wall, Miss Bree. I'll see what I can do."

Bree leaned back against the wall. Thomas knelt over her, touching her arm, "I was taught by the ship's doctor for a few months, Bree. I might be able to do somethin' for ye."

Bree bit her lip, "What are ye gonna do to me?"

Thomas slowly parted Bree's jerkin. He placed his hand gently on Bree's side. She looked frightened, and Thomas comforted her, "Don't worry, missy. I'm just goin' to feel around. If somethin's wrong I should be able to feel it."

Bree allowed Thomas to slide his hand under her shirt and run it slowly over her lower stomach. Thomas was delighted to find no strange fire as his skin touched Bree's. No attraction whatsoever. Relief flooded him as well. Then he concentrated on the task at hand.

Bree winced several times as Thomas' hand put slight pressure on her stomach. It was sore and painful, but she stayed silent.

Thomas felt it then. Bree's stomach was swollen. It was noticeably rounder, but there was no sign of any injury. That could only mean one thing.

Thomas withdrew his hand, smiling at Bree and saying quietly, "God Almighty, girl. Ye're pregnant!"

Bree's mouth dropped open. She repeated the word, stammering and barely getting it out, "P-pregnant?"

Thomas couldn't help but smile at the girl's surprise, "Aye, missy. Ye're carryin' a child in ye. So…tell me more about the father so I'll know how to congratulate the lucky man when 'e comes."

Bree was still getting over the news. Pregnant? Her? _I'm goin' to have a child!_ The girl recovered and looked up at Thomas, speaking with a bit of pride in her voice, "I didn't know I was pregnant. But…I'm carryin' Davy Jones' child."

Now it was Thomas' turn to let his mouth hang open. He soon shook it off, asking uncertainly and almost skeptically, "Davy Jones?"

Bree grinned, blushing, "Aye."

Thomas narrowed his eyes at her, "Lord hates a liar, Miss Bree. I thought ye were an honest girl."

Bree was offended, "I ain't lyin'! It's true!"

Thomas scoffed, "Davy Jones is a myth, Miss Bree."

Bree pointed to her swollen stomach, "I ain't carryin' a myth's child."

Thomas laid his hand on Bree's forehead, "Have ye got the fever, Miss Bree?"

Bree snarled, "No! I'm tellin' the truth! Davy Jones is real an' I'm carryin' his child! Either that or I'm the tool for Christ's second comin'! An' if I read me Bible right, that's not followin' scripture!"

One of the other prisoners had been eavesdropping. He crawled as close as his chains would allow, speaking in a hoarse voice, "I'd believe 'er, mate. Beckett's callin' 'er Jones' woman. That's why 'e's got 'er here. If ye don't believe in Davy Jones, well…"

Bree nodded appreciatively to the man, looking back to Thomas. Thomas only shrugged, his face still showing his disbelief.

Bree growled, and began tracing a design in the dust, her mind wandering. Thomas looked at the design, interest showing in his eyes, "What's that ye're drawin'?"

Bree shrugged, "Just a design from an' ol' medallion I had."

Thomas nodded, "Was it…was it yer mother's medallion?"

Bree stopped, looking up at him, her eyes wide, "How…how'd ye know that?"

Thomas traced over Bree's sketch, "A settin' sun o'er a tossin' sea…I'd know it anywhere…'twas on the medallion me mother wore around 'er neck!"

Bree's mouth hung open again. She thought her eyes would fall out of the sockets from being opened so wide. Then Thomas must be…

"What was ye're mother's name?"

Thomas took Bree's hand, answering breathlessly, "Mary Shepherd."

Bree gave a cry and threw her arms around Thomas' neck. _He was her brother!_

Thomas held Bree tight, pressing his mouth to her neck. He just knew that he had loved Bree! Now he knew why.

Bree clung to Thomas so tight that her arms hurt. She then drew away, breathlessly asking, "Thomas…I never knew anythin' about my family! Tell me everythin' about it!"

Thomas held Bree's hand, his own heart beating hard. He smiled inwardly though, admiring how Bree wasn't one to waste time on embracing and crying. He began speaking, "There are three of us…me, you an' a brother named Gavin. He's a pirate on the ship _Tipsy Dog_. We grew up together on the _Bloodsail_, learnin' the trade. Then after a while we separated. We didn't know we had a sister, though."

Bree felt her heart sink somewhat at this. She wasn't surprised. Her father had never really cared for her. She remembered that he hadn't even bothered to name her.

Thomas continued, "Gavin an' I sometimes meet up in Tortuga. An' Father will meet us as well. 'E's cap'n o'…"

Bree interrupted, her eyes wild, "Father's alive?"

Thomas nodded, not recognizing the look in Bree's eyes. She looked…distressed.

"Bree…what's wrong?"

Bree sank back, shaking her head, "Nothin'…I need to rest."

Thomas smiled at his sister, "Aye…now I've found me sister an' a niece or nephew is on the way!"

Bree smiled faintly, curling up in her corner. She pretended to sleep, watching through half closed lids as Thomas himself went to sleep.

Bree's head was whirling. Two shocks in so short a time. First her pregnancy, now her brother! She was overjoyed to find her brother, and equally happy to know she was with child…but…

_What if Beckett tries to kill th' child?_

Well Bree wouldn't let that happen! Beckett couldn't kill the offspring of the Sea himself!

Bree settled down, her thoughts turning to her father. She thought back to long ago in Tortuga when she was still living with her mother.

The young girl wandered the alleyways, staying to the shadows. It was the only way to keep away from the loud crowds and packed streets.

Picking up a stick, the girl clacked it along the walls, drumming on old crates and half filled garbage barrels. Once or twice a large rat would scurry out across her path, and she would either throw a rock or chase after it.

It was one of the times she chased after it that she ran slap bang into a group of taller boys. They were teenagers and she was only about eight years old. The oldest of the group stepped forward, pushing the girl roughly and laughing to the other boys, "Well, well, if it ain't Baby-faced Bree!" They all laughed cruelly.

Bree growled angrily, clenching her fists, "Shove off! What ye callin' me names for? I ain't done anythin' to ye!"

The oldest boy, a mean bully named Kay, shoved her again, "What did ye say, li'l baby? Ye goin' to cry about it? Run home to mama!"

Bree snarled, drawing her lips back. Kay pretended to reel back in horror, "Oh, watch out lads, she's goin' to bite me! Little flea…"

Bree growled, "What d'ye want?"

Kay stepped forward and ripped Bree's thin leather belt from around her waist. Her money pouch was looped around it. Enraged, Bree leaped forward, "Hey! Give that back!"

Two of the boys restrained her, laughing as Kay slid the pouch from the belt, "Let's see what we've got in here!" He emptied it out on the ground, counting out the meager contents. He made a face but stowed the contents in his pocket.

Bree was livid, "Ye can't do that! Give it back, scum!"

Kay smirked, "What does a little whelp need money for?"

"I was gonna give it to Mama!" Bree cried.

Kay put on a face of fake realization, "Oh, Mama, ye say? Well, I'd better give it back! A lady too stuck up to be a wench needs the money. Huh, I'll bet she's workin' on the sly…"

This was as far as he got. Bree had wriggled out of the arms of the other two boys and was on Kay. Kay was a good head and a half taller than her and probably stronger, but Bree was spurred on by anger. She clawed at his eyes and bit at his neck, kicking at his stomach and punching at his face. Kay yelled in surprise, trying to rip the little girl off of him, but she clung like a mad squirrel, fighting frenziedly.

Kay's companions managed to rip Bree from Kay's face, throwing her against the wall. Bree staggered up, kicking out wildly, but the older boys closed in around her, and a brutal beating began to ensue.

Suddenly, a shot rang out, and all activity ceased. A young boy, probably about twelve to thirteen years old, stood with a pistol in his hand. This was an interesting young fellow. He was younger than most of this gang, but he possessed incredible strength and fighting skills. He flung aside the pistol almost carelessly and strode forward, looking at the boys with stern eyes, speaking scornfully, "Beatin' up little girls? Is that how low ye'll go? Not very tough are ye? Takes all o' ye to give 'er a black eye an' a few lumps? Bree's tougher 'n all o' ye put together!"

He pushed through to Bree, who was still conscious and seething. Touching her arm gently, the young boy asked, "Are ye all right, mate?"

Bree nodded, hissing through her teeth, "Lemme kill 'em all!"

The boy smiled, pulling her away gently, "No, mate…c'mon, ye need to get home afore yore mama starts worryin' about ye." He prodded her gently and, with one last hate-laden glare at the gang of boys, Bree scampered off. She called over her shoulder, "Thanks, Flagg!"

Flagg waved to her, then turned back to the boys, "That ain't too gentlemanly, mates. Soon, Bree'll grow up to be a beautiful young maid an ye'll all be wantin' after her hand…how d'ye think she'll respond?" He then strode up to the tallest of the boys, disarming him with a flick, "Think on that, bilgeslops."

Bree climbed in through the window to her house, a small, run down house near the edge of town, by the sea. Bree tripped over the window sill and crashed to the floor, making a loud noise. Her mother entered the room, seeing her daughter sprawled on the floor.

Mary Shepherd knelt beside her daughter, hauling her up and dusting off her little jerkin. She fussed over the girl, scolding, "Out again, were ye? What've I told ye 'bout wanderin' the streets at night! Ye're eye's swollen shut!"

Bree probed at a loose tooth and grinned proudly, "I hit Kay hard!"

Mary slapped her hand, "Ye shouldn't've done that! What am I to do with ye? Ye'll get yerself killed doin' that!"

Bree argued back, "He hit me first!"

Mary snarled back, "Quiet, Bree! Hold yer tongue or I'll cut it off!" When Bree's eyes filled with a hurt expression, Mary softened. She put her arms around her daughter and pulled her close, "I'm sorry, dear heart. I just…I lost my temper."

Mary pulled away, going to the corner of the little room and retrieving something, "I have somethin' for ye." She took Bree's arm and fitted something into the girl's hand.

Bree gripped it with two hands, feeling it. A thick rod? No…it was heavy…very heavy. Something was pressed to the top of her fist. A hilt?

Turning to the light, Bree beheld the sword for the first time. It was beautiful…a true killer! Bree's arms were stronger than most nine year old maids, and she held the sword steady. She looked in wonder on the blade, speaking in a hushed voice, "What is this?"

Mary smiled, running her finger down the blade, "'Tis your father's sword…I thought you should have it, as today is your birthday." Her expression was soft and warm, one of love. Then, it suddenly changed to bitterness.

Bree sensed the change. She turned to her mother, "Mama?"

Mary was gripping Bree's arm. Her grip tightened. Bree cried out as her mother's nails pierced her skin. Mary pulled back, her eyes wild. Bree, concerned, dropped the sword and went to her mother, "Mama, what's wrong?"

Mary gripped Bree in a fierce hug. Bree had the breath crushed from her lungs, and she was confused. What was happening?

Mary battled within herself. _Tell her…ye need to get it out an' warn her!_

Mary bent, her face level with Bree's, "Bree…I never told ye about your father…I feel I need to." She drew in a shuddering sigh, then began, "Eight years ago, I sailed with your father on the ship _Bloodsail_. He was cap'n."

Bree's eyes grew wide. She knew of the ship. She was the daughter of its captain? She had real pirate blood in her!

Mary continued, "I was pregnant with ye, so we docked at the harbor. Ye were born on the ship, an' yer father told me to go ashore. When I did…your father just gave me his sword, sayin' that he would return one day. Then…he sailed away. Didn't even bother to name ye." Her eyes hardened as she gripped Bree, "Promise me one thing, Bree…promise ye will _never_ fall for a man's lies! Don't make the mistake I did! Yer father an' I were married for years…many years. But I've never forgiven 'im for what 'e did to me! I was stranded on this rock. No one would take me as a passenger."

Bree was shocked. Had her own father been so cruel as to desert her mother?

Mary continued, "Men are habitual liars, Bree. They'll promise things they never intend to fulfill…ye're old enough to be warned." She touched the blade of the fallen sword, "But…promise me ye'll never dishonor this blade."

Bree touched the blade as well, nodding, "I promise, Mama…an' I promise I'll never fall prey to a man!"

Mary nodded, hugging Bree again. Tears streaked her cheeks. _Don't let her ever know the pain of love…_

Tortuga normally is quiet in the early morning. Most people don't believe that. But that's normally the time the hangovers hit.

It wasn't quiet this morning. A long, piercing howl split the air, never stopping. Flagg leaped from his bed. The sound was coming from the house by the cliffs!

Pulling on his jerkin, Flagg hurried outside and raced to the house. He ran to the door, burst in and stopped, horrified.

Bree knelt, her hands stained with blood. Beside her was her mother…dead, blood coating her chest and a gaping hole near her heart. Bree was wailing uncontrollably, her face streaming with tears. Flagg stepped around Mary's body, his eyes wide. He looked to Bree, "What happened?"

Bree rocked back and forth, never speaking. Then Flagg saw it. A blood stained broadsword lay on the floor in the corner…beside the carcass of Kay. The foolish boy had crawled in through the window that night, looking to cause Bree misery. He had found the broadsword lying by Bree's bed and, looking to steal it, had tried to climb back out of the window with it. But Mary had heard him, and, seeing that he had her husband's sword, rushed at him in a frenzy to regain it. The poor woman's mind was gone from the bottled up emotions she had kept for eight years. And Kay, desperate to defend himself, had not missed his mark.

But Bree, waking to the screams and seeing her mother fall dead, didn't hesitate. Her pirate warrior blood spurred her on to action. Leaping up, she had snatched the sword from Kay's faltering hands and ran him through with the strength of hatred.

Bree rocked back and forth, keening and wailing. Flagg knelt, gently putting his arms around her. Bree threw back her head and howled in agony. Flagg shushed her, "Shh…Bree, 'tis me, mate. It's all right."

Bree pressed her face to his shoulder, sobbing, "Mama! I promised…I promised her I wouldn't dishonor the blade! _I promised!_"

Flagg held the young girl, tears building in his eyes. A girl this young wasn't meant to see her mother's murder.

"You didn't dishonor the blade, Bree…" His eyes flicked to Kay's body, "He did."

Flagg and Bree buried Mary Shepherd together, giving her a simple marker with her name carved into it. Kay's body they threw into the sea.

Bree fitted her father's sword to a belt that she buckled across her chest diagonally. Her face was like stone, her eyes cold. Flagg took her hand, "Bree…please reconsider. Ye're too young!"

Bree shook her head, "No…there ain't nothin' for me here. Mama's dead an' I have my father's sword. If I stay they'll charge me as a murderer. I'm off to do what I've always dreamed of doin'…sailin' the sea."

Flagg and Bree walked to the harbor together. Bree turned to Flagg, hugging him. She blinked back tears, "I'll miss ye, though, mate."

Flagg embraced Bree, "I know I can't change yer mind. But be careful." And now he looked into her eyes, "Ye didn't kill 'er, ye know…"

Bree's eyes filled with tears, but she looked away, turning and striding to one of the ships. It was early dawn and no one was up and about yet. She would be guaranteed secrecy until they were too far out for the sailors to turn back. She would become part of the crew and learn the trade.

Bree climbed up the ropes, swinging over the railing onto the deck. She looked down at Flagg, waving. Flagg waved back, and Bree disappeared below decks.

Flagg trudged home with a heavy heart. He supposed Bree was doing what she was meant to do. She was a pirate through and through. And there was nothing left for her in Tortuga.

Bree's eyes opened. She sat up, looking at her surroundings. There was Thomas, sleeping peacefully. Bree blinked back tears. Why did these memories have to plague her now? They had never bothered her before. She supposed she was somewhat like Jones, hiding her feelings and memories until nothing but the distant pain was left.

Bree sighed heavily. Davy Jones…she missed him so much. She wanted to see him so desperately, even if just for a moment. Tears trickled down her scarred cheek. Her heart cried out to his.

_Davy…I need you to save me!_

Bree jumped as the cell door slammed open. Grafter stood framed in the doorway, his whip wound about his waist. Bree cringed against the wall, the burn marks on her thighs and back aching whenever she saw him.

Grafter strode forward, grabbing Bree by the front of her jerkin and hauling her up. Thomas yelled in outrage and tried to repel Grafter, but Grafter struck him with his whip handle. Bree, reacting swiftly, slashed at Grafter with her claws, leaving five crimson marks on his cheek. In a fury, Grafter wrenched her arms behind her back, shackling her.

Norrington stood slightly behind Grafter, watching. He despised Grafter. The man was cruel and sadistic, a man who reveled in the torment of others. But duty and honor outdid his pity for Bree.

Bree was led down to the parade ground. She was bound to a post, her shackles nailed in. Bree slumped, tired and dispirited. After her horrible memories of her mother's death and the thoughts of her father, she didn't feel well. Aye, two discoveries that day had changed her life…but they might turn to Beckett's advantage.

All the men in the fort were gathered in the parade ground, standing in a ring around the post. They all looked at Bree, jeering and mocking her. Someone actually threw something. A rock. It struck Bree's cheek, cutting her. Bree gritted her teeth.

Beckett entered, his arm still hung in its sling. He looked at Bree, grinning smugly. Now he would finally break the girl. He motioned Norrington over, speaking in a whisper, "Be ready when I call you."

Beckett strode forward, scanning the faces of the men gathered in the parade ground. Good…they were all there. Vulgar, lewd men, the lot of them. This was too perfect.

Beckett spoke in a voice that could be heard by all, "Well, Miss Bree, have you decided whether or not to talk?"

Bree snarled at Beckett, "Wild horses couldn't drag it outta me, frogface!"

Beckett grinned, smirking as he replied, "You may think differently when I'm done." He turned to Norrington, "Strip her."

Both Norrington and Bree's eyes went wide as Beckett gave that command. Bree cried out in horror, sliding down and curling into a tight ball. Norrington took a pace back, shaking his head, "Sir…no…"

Beckett narrowed his eyes at Norrington, "Are you disobeying me, sir? Insubordination?" He looked at all the men who were eagerly watching Bree. He was sure the girl would tell him all he wanted to know when faced with this.

Norrington was appalled. How could Beckett be so cruel? But Beckett urged him on, "Sir, if you don't obey, it may cost you your commission."

Norrington swallowed, looking at the girl. Her eyes were wide with fear. He debated in his mind. He didn't want to do this, but he didn't want to lose what he had worked so hard for. And, with the heart, wouldn't the reign of piracy end at last?

Norrington strode forward slowly, going to stand before the girl. She cried out in terror, trying to move away, but Norrington caught her by the shoulders. Tears stood out in the young girl's eyes and she pleaded silently with him. Norrington simply whispered, "I'm sorry…" He then averted his eyes and motioned to Grafter, who was standing nearby.

Bree struggled madly, trying to move away, but she had her jerkin ripped from her. Now Grafter tried to take her shirt from her, grinning wildly. Norrington never once turned toward her. He didn't want to have to look at her.

Then Grafter made a grunting sound. Norrington instinctively looked around. He looked down, his eyes wide. Bree's shirt was still on, but he saw the slight bulge of her stomach. She was…carrying a child!

"Sir! The girl is pregnant!"

Bree snarled, bringing her fist straight into Norrington's side, causing him to fall to the left, but he rose quickly, backing away. Bree grabbed her jerkin, pulling it on hastily. There were murmurs of disappointment among the men as their sport was ruined.

Beckett's mouth curved up in a cruel smile. This was all playing to his advantage. He had two options. Now he could either threaten the child's life, or ransom the girl to Davy Jones for the heart. When Jones learned he had a child on the way, he would gladly give up the heart. Ah, life was good to him!

Beckett grinned at Norrington, "Oh, this is just wonderful!" Norrington forced a smile, relieved that the girl hadn't been put on display but dreading what Beckett had in store now.

Bree clung to the post she was chained to, soft tears sliding down her cheeks as she wept silently.

_Davy…I'm sorry…_


	10. Kelpies

Chapter X

Kelpies

Clanker sat in the hold of the _Dutchman_, trying to get some sleep. But no one could sleep with that infernal organ blasting away. Jones hadn't let up. It was obvious he was frustrated. Who wouldn't be? Everyone was frustrated. They all wanted Bree back. Now they had a heading, but no one had a plan other than to storm wherever Bree was being held.

But if Bree couldn't break out herself…how could they break in?

Clanker shifted in his hammock, covering his ears. _Why does 'e have to play that thing?_ The organ was reverberating throughout the hold, making his head sore. Jones would still play it from time to time, mostly with Bree accompanying him on her fiddle. But this time it was alone and so loud that Clanker was sure his brain would come out through his ears.

Hadras was in the hammock next to Clanker's. He had gently pulled his own head off and wrapped it in several blankets, leaving only a small gap for breathing. Even that didn't totally block out the sound.

Clanker tried to settle down, but the organ kept booming away.

_We've just gotta find Miss Bree!_

Jack Sparrow sat in his cabin, trying to concentrate. But he could hear the organ as well. He tried putting cloth in his ears, but even that didn't work.

Will came into the cabin, sitting down in the corner. Jack looked up, nodding to him, "Ah…Will. Has anything changed?"

Will shook his head, "No…I don't understand. We should have sighted land by now."

Jack nodded. Then he looked out the door, groaning, "Won't Jones bloody well shut up?"

Will couldn't help a smile, "I think he's pining."

Jack stood up, closing the door, "Well, couldn't he pine to himself?" He blew a sigh, then sat down next to Will.

"Jack…" Will started, wondering if he was speaking nonsense, "Elizabeth told me…there are things following us."

Jack looked at Will, confused, "Things? Ah yes, those things are called crewmembers of the _Flying Dutchman_, mate."

Will gave Jack a look that told him he was serious. "What d'ye mean, Will?"

Will spoke in a softer voice, "Elizabeth says she's been seeing shadows in the water. Big shadows."

Jack was getting worried, but he didn't show it. He simply nodded, saying, "They could just be fish…followin' us."

Will shrugged, "You might want to come out and give it a look, mate."

Elizabeth was already at the stern when Jack and Will came out. They joined her, leaning over and looking into the water. Sure enough, about five large shadows were following them. They were long and slender, keeping up easily with the _Pearl_, just behind her.

Jack bit his lip. He turned to Elizabeth, "When did they start followin'?"

Elizabeth shrugged, "I don't know…I just looked and there they were! Jack…what are they?"

Jack knew.

"Kelpies."

Will and Elizabeth looked at one another, confusion on their faces. "Kelpies?"

"Aye…goddesses of the sea." Jack moved away from the railing, calling back to Will and Elizabeth, "They were sent to sleep long ago…they've awakened. I have to talk to Jones, now!"

Will looked to Elizabeth. This wasn't the Jack they knew. This was a Jack that took all seriously.

The _Dutchman_ was signaled to and a message was sent across. Elizabeth continued watching the shadows. She noticed that when the organ stopped playing, the Kelpies, if that was what they were, left off following the _Pearl_. Alarmed, Elizabeth ran to where Will was standing.

Jones came aboard, his beard curling in annoyance. He folded his arms over his chest and looked to Sparrow, "Well?"

Jack wasn't intimidated by Jones now. This was serious, "Jones, there's a group o' Kelpies followin' us."

Jones face changed. Concern showed in his pale blue eyes, "Kelpies? But how? They've been sleepin' for o'er three hundred years!"

Jack nodded, "I know…but they're back."

Elizabeth spoke up, "They left…as soon as the organ stopped playing!" She looked to Jones, "Are they following because you were playing?"

Jones looked to Elizabeth explaining, "They're blind. They can only follow by sound. But they can't come within twenty feet o' the _Dutchman_, so they followed the _Pearl_." He looked back to Jack, "We can't worry about them for now. I don't know why they're followin' us, but all I'm carin' about right now is gettin' Bree back."

Jack nodded, concern still on his face. Jones returned to his ship, and Elizabeth put her hand on Jack's arm, "Jack…what are the Kelpies?"

Jack looked from Elizabeth to Will, "Mates…before Jones became ruler o' the seas, there were gods an' goddesses. Ye've heard the tales o' nymphs an' Calypso an' all the rest of 'em? Well, the Kelpies were part o' that group. Jones had to fight with 'em before he could claim the sea as his own. The Kelpies were banished to the lowest depths, but for some reason they're back." He looked away, muttering, "An' I don't know what they're goin' to do."

After Jack had mentioned the Kelpies, Elizabeth had kept her eyes on the water. She didn't see any more shadows now that Jones wasn't playing his organ anymore. But then…was that one right under the waves? Maybe…

She was sure of it when she saw a head break the surface. Horror shot through her. She couldn't make out the shape of features, but she saw a head.

They were still being followed.

Down below the depths, far, far down, in a cave driven into the very bowels of the inner earth, the Kelpies all swam through to bow before a great throne carved from the very rock. On it sat a figure shadowed and unseen. A hissing sound was heard in the confined space. The Kelpies all spoke with one voice, "Mighty One, we come."

The figure hissed at them, cutting short the ceremonial greeting, "Silence! Did you find my ship?"

"Yes, Mightiness, but we lost her when the man of the sea stopped playing his song," one of the Kelpies answered.

The figure snorted, drumming skeletal claws on the arm of the living rock throne, "Ye did well, my blind scouts. But what of Orrin?"

The head Kelpie lowered its sightless eyes, "We found no trace of him. We can't hear him or sense him."

The figure snarled in annoyance, "Well…no matter. We shall deal with him later. I am awaiting the Sirens now. They were to bring me the soul of Calypso, formal goddess of my domain. I hope to add her power to mine. But you will continue following my ship."

The Kelpies all bowed, backing away, their sightless eyes staring straight ahead as they moved forward, using their senses.

The figure leaned back in its throne, sighing heavily. Something was wrong. Some power was keeping the plans from running smoothly. Be it Orrin or a newer, younger deity, the figure knew not. But it was soon to find out.

Bree sat in the corner of her cell, curled up slightly. Thomas sat across from her, looking up occasionally.

"Bree…I'm sorry."

Bree averted her eyes, trying to hide the tears, "It's all right, mate. It ain't yer fault I'm carryin' a child." She let a bit of humor in on the situation, "I should blame Davy fer that." She laughed a small, fading laugh.

One of the prisoners sitting near her scooted closer, putting his hand on her shoulder, "Don't ye fret, Miss Bree. I'm sure Jones'll come to save ye. Sounds like 'e really loves ye."

Bree choked on her tears. Oh, how she missed him! His strong, comforting embrace, his voice, his eyes…_No point in wishin'_ Bree thought to herself. _I'd best try to think of a way to get outta here. Davy may be comin', but now Beckett's got leverage._

Bree felt Thomas put his hand on her cheek. She looked up at her brother, eyes blurred with the moisture. Thomas gave her a faint smile, "Mate…I won't let Beckett touch ye."

Bree put her hand over Thomas', "Thanks to ye, mate…I fear for…I fear Beckett'll try to ransom me!" _If Davy loses his heart again…it'll be my fault._

_I should've kept the name Bad Luck Bree._

The young man walked along the tide line, his feet splashing through the small lapping waves. His sea green eyes scanned the fort, calculating and observing. _Jones would need all of his men to take that place…unless he would go himself…but he can't._

As he continued on his walk, the young man mused to himself. _Jack Sparrow has joined forces with Davy Jones…only a truly marvelous girl could do that…_He grinned slightly, then continued with his thoughts.

As he walked, the young man mentally went through his plans. He had to infiltrate the fort somehow. It shouldn't be hard for him. He had certain techniques. And he had been watching the place for quite some time, learning the times of guard rotations.

_Tonight…I'll make my move…_

Grafter sat sullenly on the wall top, having to endure Scorch's taunting.

"Couldn't break 'er, mate? She's only a girl! How can ye not break her? She's pregnant too! Ye're losin' yer touch!" Scorch was grinning derisively.

Grafter spat at his feet, "Shaddap! Ye couldn't do better!"

Scorch continued taunting Grafter, "I think ye're goin' soft, mate!"

Grafter cuffed Scorch, "Never! I'm never goin' soft!"

Scorch spoke in a mockingly high-pitched voice, "Too kind to all livin' creatures? Can't bear to harm 'em?"

Grafter snarled, about to protest when Scorch looked out over the beach, pointing, "Lookit that!"

Grafter looked. Trotting along the tide line was a large, pure white stallion. It looked like an Arabian, but was the size of a Shire, though not as broad. It was the most beautiful horse human eyes had ever seen. Its mane tossed in the light sea breeze like foam atop a wave, the hooves shining like polished silver on the sand and the tail waving like a silky flag.

Scorch grinned cruelly, "I know…why not prove ye ain't losin' yer touch by killin' that horse?"

Grafter looked at Scorch, his eyes narrowing, "That might be one o' Beckett's horses!"

Scorch made a clucking noise under his breath. Grafter, goaded on, snarled, "Fine! Watch a true killer at work!" He fingered the hilt of his long dagger, "An' I'll use this, not a gun!"

Scaling his way down, Grafter reached the outside of the fort. He walked away down through the short stretch of trees to the beach, then looked back up at Scorch, who indicated he should keep going. Grafter turned back, keeping his eyes on the horse.

Grafter was a totally cruel and ruthless man. He had every intention of killing the horse, just to show Scorch he was as cruel as they came. Besides, he could get some sport out of it. It was fun to watch an animal's death throes.

As he neared the horse, Grafter whistled. The horse stopped, turning towards him, its dark eyes resting on him. It looked innocently at him. Grafter grinned. It must be somewhat tamed. He continued whistling to it.

The horse lowered its neck, taking a few steps toward the man. Grafter kept his dagger concealed, luring the horse closer and taking slow steps. Soon, he touched the horse's velvety muzzle. Smiling inwardly with sadistic delight, Grafter moved to the side, running his hand slowly down the horse's neck. He slowly inched the dagger from the sheath, readying it to slit the creature's throat.

Suddenly, the horse wheeled its head about, knocking the dagger from Grafter's hand. Grafter had his other hand on the horse's neck. He tried to withdraw it…but couldn't. His hand seemed to be fused to its neck. He tugged hard, but to no avail.

Panic overcame him. The animal began to move forward, going at a trot. Grafter had to run to keep up as he could not break loose. He tugged hard, putting his other hand against the neck to help pry the other loose. But then his other hand fused to the neck as well. Fear filled him. He couldn't get loose from the horse!

The horse whinnied in what sounded like derisive laughter. It took off at a full gallop suddenly. Grafter was whisked off of his feet, dragged along the sand, his legs coming in contact with the horse's blade-like hooves, cracking his shin-bone.

The horse headed straight for the water. Grafter opened his mouth and screamed in utter terror. The water rushed into his mouth as he was half submerged. But the strange horse's hooves propelled it upwards, allowing it to run straight over the waves, moving effortlessly at amazing speeds.

Grafter could not get free. He continued screaming as the water came closer to him, up to his neck now. As it closed over his head, he heard a voice inside his mind.

"_I was sent and called by the rulers of the Sea. Hell awaits your soul."_

Scorch stood, never moving. He had seen clearly what had happened, even if it was from afar. Grafter had been carried out to sea by the strange horse. The horse had run over the waves! Terror had struck him. And now what was he to tell Lord Beckett?

He slowly devised an answer, practicing it in a faltering voice.

"Er…sir…Grafter was taken by a sea horse."


	11. Rebels and Sea Foam

Chapter XI

Rebels and Sea Foam

Elizabeth sat at the stern of the _Black Pearl_, wrapped in an old mariner's coat. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, trying to keep them open. She had been up since early morn, unable to sleep. She drummed her fingers on the railing, glancing out toward the _Dutchman_.

Elizabeth let her mind wander. _Jones must truly love Bree…_of course she already knew this. She had been present at the wedding of Jones and Bree. She had seen the way they gazed at one another. She had seen the passion they shared in their kiss. _I wonder what Jones' plan is once we reach…_

Elizabeth stopped. They had been sailing for days. They should have reached their destination by now. At least, that's what Jack had said.

Leaning over the railing, Elizabeth scanned the water absently. Suddenly, she went stiff, her neck hairs rising. She opened her mouth, but no noise came out. Her eyes went wide with vague horror. She drew away from the side, composing herself. Then she turned, going down to find Will.

Will was softly shaken into wakefulness. Elizabeth was whispering urgently, "Will, hurry, come and see!"

The two hurried up onto the deck. Elizabeth rushed to the stern, pointing over the side, "Hurry, before it's gone!"

Will looked over, seeing it.

A corpse was floating in the water, that of a strongly built man wearing non-descript clothes. He was face down in the water, and Will could see no signs of injuries. He must have drowned.

Will pulled Elizabeth back, not wanting her to see too much of the grisly spectacle. "I'm sure it's just the corpse of a drowned sailor."

Elizabeth shuddered, "Yes…I suppose so…"

Will let Elizabeth stay in his arms, "I'll stay on the _Pearl _today…it's too much of a hassle switching ships." He felt he might be needed on the _Pearl._

More eventful things would happen later that day.

Bree lay curled up in the corner of the cell, not moving. She tried to sleep…maybe she would never wake up. It wouldn't be that bad.

Suddenly, the door opened. Norrington had been sent in the place of Grafter. Beckett hadn't bought Scorch's story and suspected that either Scorch had killed the man or something else had happened that would compromise Scorch's position.

Norrington held a pair of shackles, looking at Bree. She turned her face to him. Norrington's heart twisted. She looked like a pitiful dog, sad and tired. But that spark was still there. But it was dying.

Norrington stepped forward, but was blocked by the young man named Thomas Fletcher, "Leave 'er alone."

Norrington spoke in a composed tone, "My good man, this girl could save herself a lot of grief if she were to just talk. I'm here to take her to be questioned. No harm will come to her if she talks."

Bree turned, her eyes hard. She spat, "Ye can't make me talk! I'll never betray Davy Jones!"

Norrington tried to hold her gaze, answering calmly, "Young lady, think of your child."

Bree snarled, lunging forward and bringing her fist slamming into Norrington's knees. He winced, stumbling a bit, but kept his footing. He managed to grab hold of Bree's wrists and shackle them. Thomas had to be restrained by his fellow prisoners, who knew it was no use.

Bree stood in the corner, lack of food making her dizzy. She turned her head blindly in the direction Norrington's voice came from, only seeing a dim shape, her gaze going up and down involuntarily. She felt out with her left hand, coming into contact with the familiar stone wall. Her upper lip and chin were burning with a prickling sting from fatigue, and it felt like a burning rain dripping over her face. It was the type of feeling one got if a limb fell asleep, but far worse.

"Miss Bree…Lord Beckett will be here very soon. I ask that you tell him what he wants to know. Otherwise, he might cause hurt to you, as well as your child."

Bree's bleary eyes seemed to find Norrington in her befuddled state, "I…will n…never betray…the sea…" Having been bumped into several walls on her way up to the torture chamber, Bree's speech was slurred from her dizziness and confusion.

Norrington went to the girl, touching her hand to let her know he was in front of her, "Miss Bree…please. I don't want to see you hurt. One so young shouldn't have to face the horrors you have seen. And the child you carry, even if it is the spawn of the Sea himself, should have a chance at life."

Bree jerked her arm away, turning her head sharply, "Don't ye dare try to trick me into rattin' on Davy Jones! He'll come for me…just ye wait!"

Norrington winced as Bree's claws grazed his fingers. He staunched the light flow of blood with his sleeve, his tone tinged with slight pleading, "Girl…you _must_ tell him. He'll kill you!"

Bree laughed hoarsely, "He can't kill me! I belong to the _Dutchman_!"

Norrington pointed out, "Your babe…"

Bree put her hand on her swollen stomach, a wild light coming to her bleary eyes, "No…I can fight that li'l toad off. He can't harm the child. It's Davy Jones' child!"

Norrington opened his mouth to speak, but halted as Lord Beckett opened the door to the torture chamber, entering. His cold eyes swung to Bree, a cruel light causing them to look like coals.

"Has she spoken yet?"

Norrington shook his head, "No, sir. No difference. Just the same." He turned to chain Bree to the wall, easily overcoming the girl's weak struggles.

Beckett removed something from his coat. Norrington looked closer, and his eyes widened in horror. It was a metal hook, sharpened to a lethal point.

Beckett moved closer to the girl, taking the hook and pressing the point to the girl's arm, "Young woman, you haven't cooperated, and still refuse to do so."

Bree turned her head in the direction of Beckett's voice. She spat at him, "Took ye a while to figure that out, did it? How's that wrist? Ye're frail little bones couldn't handle a li'l pressure?"

Beckett kept his temper in check. He removed the hook, moving it down to Bree's stomach, pressing the point to it, "I warn you, this hook can slice through leather. If you value your child's life, I suggest you speak."

Tears formed in Bree's eyes, and sweat began beading on her forehead and neck. She bit her lip, shaking her head, "No…"

Bree bit back a cry as the hook pierced the side of her belly, not enough to harm the babe, but enough to cause agony.

Norrington's eyes closed, horror filling him. No, he wouldn't watch! How could Beckett do anything this cruel?

Bree felt the hook slowly working its way through the surface of her stomach, just enough to cause no permanent damage but serving as a warning. Beckett continued with sadistic delight, "Speak, girl. Or I'll slice through and you'll see your child spill out over the floor."

Norrington spoke in a frail voice, "Sir, don't kill the child. The girl will pass out from pain!"

Beckett hissed at Norrington, "Quiet! If she doesn't talk, the child will pay the penalty."

Bree turned her head, the shackles preventing her from doing anything. Pain made her faint, and her knees gave way. Her shackles were the only thing holding her upright. She turned her eyes on Norrington, mouthing out pitifully, "Please…"

Norrington's mouth went dry. He spoke in a louder voice, "Sir…if you kill the child, what will you have to bargain with? Why not wait and bargain with Jones? The girl knows he is coming…"

Beckett removed the hook with a sharp yank, earning a grunt from Bree. The girl slumped to the side, blood coating her shirt. Beckett cleaned the bloodied hook on a kerchief, musing, "Yes. Take her back to the dungeon. Keep her separate from the other prisoners and keep her on no food and very little water. We'll break her yet."

"Jack! There it is again!"

Gibbs pointed. Jack looked over the side. Sure enough, there was the corpse, floating in the water, bloated and beginning a slow decay before it would sink to the ocean bottom forever. Jack sucked on his bottom lip, "Bugger…that's the fifth time we've passed it. We're goin' in circles!"

Paul Fletcher slammed his fist down on the railing, "No wonder we haven't reached land! Somethin's been holdin' us back or causin' us to go in circles!"

Elizabeth spoke her thoughts, "The Kelpies, mayhap?"

Jack nodded, "Aye, luv…the Kelpies. They're the ones what done it. Should've guessed they were workin' against us."

Paul gritted his teeth, "Well, is there any way to get rid o' this magic? Who knows what's been happenin' to Bree!"

Jack bit his lip, "Aye…we'd best sit tight an' see what happens. Ain't much more we can do. The Kelpies ain't followin' us anymore. Someone contact Jones. He might have a plan."

But no one had to contact Jones. He found out for himself.

Jones sat at his organ, refraining from playing it. He was thinking, pondering.

Why hadn't they reached land yet? Something suspicious was happening. And these waters didn't seem right. Was there some will set against them?

Jones fumbled for a match, taking out his pipe. He needed to think clearly and he couldn't do that if he wasn't relaxed. Taking the match in one tentacle and the pipe in another, Jones struck the match against a barnacle. He lit the pipe and lifted it to his mouth, taking a long draft. Smoke came out his mouth and his side siphon as he waved the match out.

Then his hackles rose. Someone was in the room with him. He could sense it. Time to act.

Jones whirled around, dropping the pipe. His fierce blue gaze cut the shadows of his cabin. He saw a figure in the far corner by the globe. Snarling, Jones challenged, "Who are ye? Show yerself!" He rose, drawing his broadsword.

The figure emerged from the shadows. It was the figure of a young man. He was abnormally tall, only a head shorter than Jones, who was about eight feet tall. The young man's hair was as white as sea foam, but he still had a youthful face, pale as could be. His eyes were green, green like the swells of the sea. He wore normal sailor clothes and carried a thin rapier at his side. He was handsome and youthful, but one look at his green eyes told one that he was far older than he seemed.

Jones menaced the man with his sword, snarling, "Speak, boy! How did ye get here?"

The young man came forward, moving gracefully. He spoke in a calm voice, "Davy Jones…it is an honor to meet you. I live by most of your laws, but by a few of my own as well. I have no intention of harming you…I know that I can't. And I have no intention of hindering this quest you are on."

Jones narrowed his eyes. How much did this young man know about him?

"You haven't gained any distance over the past day or so," the man continued. "You remember the old gods of the sea, from whom you gained your powers?"

Jones, still wary, nodded, "I suppose they've found a way to hold me back? The last of the rebels were sent to the lower depths. How did they escape? I know that th' Kelpies had come back. But they aren't powerful enough to oppose me."

The young man laughed, "Don't misjudge the Kelpies, Davy Jones. I myself am a Kelpie."

Jones' eyes widened. He tilted his head, "Ye don't resemble one."

The man smiled, "I was one of the gifted ones. Unlike the others of my race, I was not born blind. I was gifted with sight only given to those who are destined for greater things. I served under the ruler of the inner depths for a time, then, disgusted with her cruelty, broke away, taking my destiny in my own hands. But I knew of her plans to overthrow you, Davy Jones."

Jones narrowed his eyes, "Who is this ruler o' the inner depths? I only know of one goddess who escaped. An' I thought I sent her into exile."

The man shook his head, "You know of Medusa. She has thrived in the inner depths for centuries. And there she rules, powerful and fearsome. But I broke away from her, tired of her cruelty. She is the one who has caused you to follow a circular course. You are getting nowhere."

Jones raised his sword, "Ye'd best be tellin' the truth. I'm bound for land."

The man nodded, smiling, "Aye. Bound for your lover."

Jones snarled, "What d'ye know, boy?"

Smiling again, the man said, "My name is Orrin. And I know about the girl. Bree…strong name. Well known by all who dwell in the sea, as she is the one who tamed the wrath of Davy Jones himself."

Jones tapped the point of his broadsword against the deck, "Get to the point, Master Orrin."

Orrin nodded, "I can help you. I have a small skill. I have changed the course of two ships. Two ships that are familiar to you. They should join you in the space of a day. They will be valuable allies. And soon this magic shall pass, and you will reach your destination."

Jones felt his pride somewhat wounded, "Tell me, how is it that a deity I conquered can control these waters better than I could?"

Orrin shrugged, "Only because I knew of the spell could I change the tide. Had you known, you could have done so as well."

Jones looked down, gripping the hilt of his sword. When he looked up, Orrin was gone. Jones sheathed his blade, gritting his teeth. It seems the only goddess that had escaped from him all those centuries ago had been gaining power for a long time. Medusa…almost as hateful to him as Calypso. After gaining his power from all the older gods, Medusa had been the only one to oppose him still. He had defeated her, but she fled into the lower depths.

_Orrin, eh?_ Jones thought. He seemed like a useful ally. If he was one to be trusted. But two ships were coming?

_'E said they were allies…but t' who?_


	12. Allies and Kin

Alrighty mates, here's chapter twelve! One note: Caylie, who is in this chap, is not mine. She was created by a friend of mine in her fanfic The Piratesse (which sadly is not on right now) and she has kindly agreed to let me use her. Oh, and Lillian isn't mine either. LillyFlint created her in her fic (which SHOULD be up here grumblesblacklotus grumbles broadsword grumbles draw an' quarter grumbles XD) and allowed me to use her. Ya'll should remember her from Bad Luck Bree.

Chapter XII

Allies and Kin

Orrin, in all of his long, immortal life, only had two instances where he was incredibly grateful for the fact that he was immortal. One was when he had been flogged for disobedience by Medusa herself with a scourge of live scorpions before he had rebelled. The second was now.

Orrin was on the ground, a sword point tickling his throat. He looked up into the fiery eyes of a young girl, just reaching the age of womanhood. She growled down at him, "Stow away on _my_ vessel, would ye? Bilgeslop. Get up an' fight!"

Orrin looked down at the gash in his arm. Silver blood oozed out from it, but he ignored it. He spoke in a calm voice, or at least as calm as he could make it, "Young girl, I assure you I am no stowaway. I come with news of great impor-"

He didn't finish. The girl whipped her slender blade out, cutting two slits near Orrin's jaw. A warning. She growled down at him, "Shut yer mouth! Young girl, eh? I'm the cap'n aboard this ship, an' ye'll address me as such, or I'll carve yer liver an' feed it to me crew." She pushed back a tendril of light brown hair, her blue eyes hard. She was every inch the tough young pirate maid.

Orrin winced slightly but spoke again, "Captain, I come with matters of great importance. I take it you know Davy Jones well?"

The girl's eyes widened, and she backed up, removing her blade, "Davy Jones? What of 'im?"

Orrin stood, grateful that the girl allowed him to, "He is in need of your help. I won't speak of it now, as it is not safe for me to stay much longer. I'll drive your ship to the _Dutchman_, and Jones will explain it to you. I've already alerted him of your approach." He stepped back, and vanished.

The young girl stood slack-jawed, not quite sure of what just happened. But she shook herself, seeing wind fill the sails of her vessel. She sheathed her sword, shaking hair from her pretty face. Her eyes were set as she muttered to herself, "Well…if Jones is askin' for help…it's help he'll get."

Orrin's words proved true. The next morning, Jones heard a low, continuous boom. He emerged from his cabin, looking towards the stern. A ship was coming up on them…a ship he knew well.

Clanker stood near the stern, watching the ship's progress. Jones joined him, speaking without looking at him, "I suppose ye'll be wantin' private words with the captain o' that vessel."

Clanker looked at his captain and bit his lip. He felt his heart beating hard, "It's been a while, ain't it, sir? I didn't know what had become o' the _Dawning_…"

"Aye…" Jones turned, seeing another ship slightly behind the _Dawning_. Ah, he knew this one as well. The _Bloodmast_.

It looked as if Orrin really _was_ on their side.

A board was run out between the _Dutchman_ and the _Dawning_. A young girl with light brown hair came across, looking every inch the pirate captain. She carried a capable looking sword and had a look on her pretty face that let everyone know she was a leader.

The girl went straight to Jones, who had a soft smile on his face. The girl threw her arms around Jones, squeezing him in a bear hug. Jones stroked her hair, whispering, "C'mon, now, m'dear, the men'll think I'm gettin' soft."

The girl looked up at Jones, smirking and speaking, "'Course not, Nuncle Davy. Who'd think ye were gettin' soft?"

Jones laughed along with his niece, "I swear, Caylie…"

Caylie drew away, saying, "We were told by a mutual friend that ye needed us." She looked over at the _Pearl_, which was drifting alongside, "Lord, I hardly dared to believe it was the _Pearl_! What did ye do, Nunky? I never expected to see ye sailin' alongside the _Pearl_ without blastin' 'er to bits!"

Jones' face became serious. Since Orrin had directed Caylie to him, it was only right that he ask her for help, "Caylie, m'dear, we're goin' after Cutler Beckett. I think ye remember 'im, don't ye?"

Caylie's eyes hardened, and she fingered the hilt of her sword, "Aye, I remember 'im. What happened?"

Jones put his good hand on Caylie's shoulder, "He's got Bree."

Caylie's eyes widened, "What? Bree? How in Hellgates did he get Bree?"

Jones calmed her, "Slaver ship. But we've got a fix on where 'e is. Are ye willin' to help?"

Caylie clasped her uncle's hand, "Aye, sir! Bree's a friend o' mine, and anyone who hurts me friend is a walkin' deadbeast!"

Jones smiled, "Took the words outta me mouth."

Caleb, the Jewish sailor, was sharing a bottle of rum with Flagg, who had crossed back over to the _Pearl_. They were soon joined by Jack and Gibbs.

Jack took a sip, passing the bottle to Gibbs. He looked towards the bow of the _Pearl_. Paul was standing at the side, looking out to sea. He hadn't spoken to anyone all day. Jack knew the man was nervous about nearing their destination and his daughter.

Caleb took the bottle from Gibbs, taking a swig, swallowing and saying, "So, Cap'n Sparrow, how ye so sure those two ships are friendly?"

Jack made a gesture, "Well, son, first, they ain't firin' on us. Second, the _Dutchman_ hasn't fired on _them_. An' third…I recognize 'em."

Flagg chuckled, taking his turn with the bottle, "Always a logical explanation, sir."

Jack had become immensely fond of Flagg, as he was very much like a younger version of himself, only not as daft. He spoke, "I think ye'd enjoy meetin' the captain o' that smaller vessel, the _Dawning_. 'Tis a girl, an' a young'un at that. Name's Caylie. She's Jones' niece, an' 'bout as wild as Bree."

Flagg's eyes widened, "Gaw…first a wife, now a niece? Didn't know Jones had family."

Jack sniffed, "Neither did I…don't see any resemblance."

Gibbs took up, "Aye, an' the cap'n of the _Bloodmast_ is Barbossa…I s'pose ye've heard of 'im?"

Caleb ignored the bottle offered to him, his eyes widening in fear as he heard the name of the dreaded pirate, "Barbossa 'imself? God Almighty…" He crossed himself a few times, which Flagg always thought was funny because not only was he a Jew, but he also just couldn't do it right.

Jack blew out an exasperated sigh. Barbossa wasn't only his longtime enemy, but he was also somewhat of a rival, as they were both competing for title of the most feared pirate to ever sail the seas. Barbossa, unfortunately, had an unfair advantage of ten years' worth of immortality…if that made sense. But he knew that Barbossa had a soft spot for Bree, as he had practically adopted the young girl when she crewed the _Bloodmast_. He would be a valuable addition to the rescue effort…if not a difficult one, Jack thought.

A long time passed before Barbossa actually boarded the _Pearl_. Orrin had obviously told him to talk to Jack first…maybe just to stir up a little trouble.

Hector Barbossa, former cursed captain of the _Black Pearl_ and present captain of the _Bloodmast_, stood in front to Jack, regarding him with disdain. He sniffed, "Well, Sparrow? Our mutual friend tol' me ye had urgent news. An' th' _Dutchman_ an' _Dawning _are here, so I see it's quite…pressin'…"

Jack nodded, sniffing, "Aye, _Heckles_." He grinned when Barbossa winced at the sabotaged use of his name. He growled, "Keep talkin' that way an' ye'll get no help from me, an' neither will Jones."

Jack shrugged, "I doubt that. It's concernin' Miss Bree."

Barbossa's face changed, his eyes concerned, "Bree? Why, what's wrong?"

Jack explained how Bree had been kidnapped and was now prisoner to Beckett. Barbossa pawed at his sword hilt, "That frock coated li'l toad has 'er locked up? I swear I'll string 'im up with 'is own vitals, so I will."

Jack chuckled, "Ye'll have a long line to wait in, mate. I've already called the vital hangin'. Though Jones'll most likely bump me out."

Barbossa raised an eyebrow, "Aye, I s'pose he's eager to get 'is hands on 'im as well."

"It seems everyone of us wishes to take a crack at Cutler Beckett," a voice said. Barbossa, after stepping to the side, smiled at the young woman who came to stand next to him. The young woman tightened her sword belt, grinning, "I know I do." Her eyes narrowed, and her voice grew deeper as she said with a slight growl, "And I will."

"Ah, Miss Doyle," Jack said, greeting her with a flourishing bow. He winked roguishly at her, "Ye look mighty handsome when ye talk about killin'."

Barbossa put his arm possessively around the young woman, glaring at Jack, "Aye, she does that."

Lillian Doyle smiled, speaking in her musical voice, "I certainly will be hoping to get my hands on Beckett. If he's harmed Bree, I'll do far worse to him than Jones himself could do."

Jack pressed his hands together apologetically, "'fraid that ain't possible, pretty one. Jones probably has all sorts o' tortures devised. He might shoulder ye outta line."

Lillian pursed her lips, "Maybe knock me back a few, but not shoulder me out."

"Jack Sparrow, ye'd best not be romancin' Cap'n Barbossa's lady or 'e'll take a h'axe an' cut the smile clean off yer cheeky face!"

Jack turned, only to have Caylie slam into him, hugging him fiercely. Jack hugged her back, grinning, "Caylie, m'darlin'! I saw th' _Dawning_! Was hopin' ye'd board."

Caylie looked up at Jack, grinning, "Ye thought I wouldn't?" She stepped back, touching a knuckle to her forehead to Lillian and Barbossa. They returned the greeting, Barbossa showing a hint of fondness, as he was very fond of the girl, "Have ye met Miss Doyle yet?"

Caylie shook her head, "No, we've not met."

As the introductions commenced, Flagg emerged from the hold of the _Pearl_. He had heard that two new ships had arrived. He was followed by Thatcher and Caleb. Thatcher and Caleb both stopped, gawking at Caylie and Lillian, two beautiful young women. Flagg looked at them and grinned, knowing they were both smitten. He pushed past them, intending to meet them all. Caleb and Thatcher would have followed, but they were a bit intimidated by the presence of Barbossa.

Caylie turned, seeing a handsome young man striding up to her. She grinned cheerily at him, "Belay, mate! Who be ye? Member o' Jack's crew?"

Flagg put a knuckle to his forehead respectfully, nodding, "Aye, marm…though ye're a bit young to be a marm, aren't ye…" He glanced up at Lillian, smiling at her, "Though you ain't." He then looked up at Barbossa. Barbossa was viewing him with sharp eyes, assessing him. Flagg made a respectfully gesture, speaking in a submissive voice, "Cap'n Barbossa, 'tis an honor to meet ye, sir."

Barbossa nodded, and Lillian spoke, "We don't know your name yet, sir."

Flagg grinned at her, "Me name's Flagg, marm. Pleased to be sailin' with a beautiful lady like yerself." And then he winked at Caylie, "As well as ye, pretty one."

Barbossa started to bristle a little, but he could tell that Flagg had no wrong intentions. He was simply being courteous and, as both women were beautiful, honest.

Caylie looked over at the _Dutchman_, suddenly pausing. Her eyes were set on one spot alone. Lillian's dark blue eyes traveled along, spotting the crewmember Clanker standing by the railing of the _Dutchman_. He was leaning his elbows against it, looking back across at Caylie. Lillian's eyes turned a lighter blue as a knowing smile crossed her lips. She then turned back to Flagg, "So you are in on this voyage…just because of Jack or…?"

"No, marm. I only joined up with a man by the name o' Paul Fletcher, who's me cap'n. Bree an' I were childhood friends…I'd hate to see her harmed," Flagg explained.

Caylie tilted her head, "Childhood friends, ye say? An' what of this Paul Fletcher?"

"Bree's father," came a voice behind them. They turned. It was Paul. He tugged his forelock respectfully to Barbossa and bowed to the ladies, "My 'pologies fer creepin' up like that. Paul Fletcher, formally of th' _Bloody Mary_."

"What 'appened to yer vessel, sir?" Barbossa asked, immediately liking the man. He was immensely fond of Bree, and he could see a resemblance in her father.

"Blown to bits by the frogs, Cap'n Barbossa," Paul answered, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disgust.

"Any other survivors besides young Flagg there?"

"Just Caleb an' Thatcher, sir…why?"

Barbossa looked towards his own vessel. He called across, "Ahoy lads! Where's our new man?"

"Sir?"

A man appeared across from them on board the _Bloodmast_. He was a big, black giant of a man, rippling with muscles and covered in battle scars. He carried a large claymore slung over his back. He wore no shirt, and his muscles rippled along his arms and chest in his glistening black skin.

Paul and Flagg, along with Caleb and Thatcher who had just joined them, all watched the man with amazement. Then they all called out at once, "Bear!"

The giant turned his handsome black eyes on the four men. They went wide with surprise, and then shone with joy, "Cap'n, Cap'n Fletcha!"

Making his way onto the _Pearl_, the big man hugged each of the men, tears rolling down his scarred cheeks, "I t'ought ya were dead!"

Paul patted the big man's arm, smiling, "We were sure ye'd been killed in the battle, Bear! What happened?"

The man, known as 'The Bear' because of his fierceness in battle and his smooth black skin, began his story in his deep voice, "I was knocked unconscious by a spar hittin' me o'er da head, an' I floated along wid it. I was out in de ocean for tree days an' had to fight off sharks more'n once. Den I was picked up by Cap'n Barbossa an' Miss Lillian."

Barbossa nodded, "Aye, we found 'im floatin' about on a spar, mad with th' thirst an' the heat. Lillian fixed 'im up an' we've found out what a good worker 'e is! Said 'e was yer bosun."

Paul nodded, "Aye, ol' Bear's as strong as an ox an' works just as hard." He clapped the big man on the back.

Caleb, Thatcher and Flagg all greeted their old shipmate with hearty slaps on the back and even a hug from Caleb, who was very emotional. They all went off towards the bow to fill Bear in on what was happening.

Caylie had her hands on her hips as all this was going on. Then she said, "Well, mates? We goin' to stand 'ere jawin' all season or are we goin' to rescue Bree? Nunky Jones tells me Orrin set us on the right course."

Jack nodded approvingly, "Good for Orrin…whoever 'e is. Ain't met 'im yet."

"Well…should we set out again? Everyone back to their vessels?" Lillian suggested. Everyone agreed. Caylie parted with a last remark, "What d'ye think Bree'll think when she sees a fleet comin' to 'er rescue, eh?"

Jack chuckled as Gibbs commented to himself, "What d'ye think Beckett'll think when we set Jones loose on 'im?"

Paul answered for them all, "Won't have time to think. His head'll be separated from 'is body in two seconds flat. Hard to think in that fix, ain't it?"


	13. One Shot

Chapter XIII

One Shot

Bree was lying in her usual corner, curled up to protect the unborn child. She had refused to let Thomas clean her wound. It was painful and she didn't want anyone touching the tender area.

Thomas sat nearby, watching her with concerned eyes. His sister was getting more and more discouraged. Separation from her beloved husband was beating her down. And yet her spirit was still evident in her sea-blue eyes, that same stormy gray that flamed up when angered.

The door opened suddenly. Bree raised her head like a dog awakened. She flipped over with a slight groan, but her eyes narrowed like blue slits. She pushed herself up on all fours and issued a slight growl. It was Norrington.

The pirate pushed herself up onto her knees, her eyes opening a bit wider. She had been expecting Scorch. She turned her eyes away. She was a bit grateful to Norrington. He had saved her baby…in a way, at least.

Norrington went to Bree, but Thomas pushed himself in front of Bree, growling menacingly, "Don't touch 'er, frock coat!"

Norrington took a step back, speaking in his low, calm voice, "My good sir, no harm will come to the girl. I give you my word."

Thomas snarled, "Aye, that's what ye said last time, an' ye gave 'er a hole in 'er belly!"

Bree's voice came, "Thomas, mate…'e saved the child. Let 'im speak."

Thomas backed down, still growling.

Norrington knelt down next to Bree, tipping her chin up, letting her eyes meet his. He couldn't help but flinch at her gaze. A slight contempt but a hidden appreciation was in the blue depths.

"Come with me, lass," he said, standing. He took her hands, helping her up. Bree obeyed, almost trustingly, but slightly suspicious. She followed, looking back at Thomas with a slightly apologetic expression. Norrington then shut the cell door, taking Bree's hand.

Leading her down through the dungeons, Norrington reached an empty cell, much smaller than all the others. He opened the door, taking Bree inside. Bree turned, eyes wide, "What are ye doin'?"

Norrington laid a hand on her shoulder, "Solitary confinement, Miss Bree. I'm…I'm sorry. Orders, you know."

Bree lowered her eyes, "I thought ye might have felt sorry for me. I guess not, eh?" She looked back up, her eyes flaming with anger.

Norrington came closer to her, putting an arm around her shoulders from the front and whispering in her ear, "Believe me, I do…and I only do this because of orders."

Bree felt something pushed into her hand as he spoke a few last words, "This, however, is not part of my orders." He drew away, bowing his head, and leaving the cell. Bree heard him lock the door. She looked down at what was in her hand.

A pistol, loaded with one shot.

Bree felt a smile steal across her lips. Perhaps she had gained another ally.

"Handsomely now, gents!"

Scorch was overseeing a party of men hauling a gun up the side of the wall, using a block and tackle. A young boy named Charlie was riding the gun up to fend it from the wall. Scorch called down to the boy, "Keep 'er steady, boy! Use yer legs an' stop shakin'!"

Chuckles came from the other men. They all knew the boy was afraid of heights, but he was the only one light enough to ride the gun.

The sun sank below the horizon, and it grew dark. Once the gun was up, the men quit work, heading for the barracks. Scorch was the last to leave, seeing that everything was in order.

Scorch was hailed from the parade ground. He turned, seeing a marine, who made a signal. Scorch nodded and grinned. He had been given orders to bring the girl to Beckett again. She had obviously been put in solitary confinement. It was time to make her talk…and this time they wouldn't fail.

Bree opened her eyes. She heard footsteps coming down the hallway. She scooted into a dark corner, positioning the pistol between her legs where it was hidden. Her heart beat fast. She could tell by the footsteps that it was Scorch. A grin slipped across her features. She owed Norrington one.

Bree saw the man's ugly face pressed against the small, barred window in the door. He grinned cruelly, saying, "Well, girl…ye ready to talk yet? We've got some nice surprises for ye that should…coax it outta ye." Bree heard the key turn in the lock. Scorch entered.

Bree saw that Scorch was wearing an old coat stripped of all brocade, like a cast off officer's coat, and a three cornered hat that was a bit too small for him. She stifled another smile. Perfect…she could use those quite well.

Bree kept the pistol hidden between her legs, blinking in the light. Scorch came towards her, reached down to shackle her. He suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked. Bree's voice hissed in his ear, "Don't make a move, rat tick…I'm just goin' to take yer keys, that's all…"

Bree slowly moved her hand, feeling over Scorch's belt. She removed a dagger and took the keys from him. She then pushed the pistol against Scorch's cheek, whispering, "Get up…now!"

Scorch got up slowly, and Bree pulled herself up along with him. She then circled around behind him, ripping a strip of cloth from the man's jerkin. Still holding the pistol, she gagged the man, then shackled him after removing his coat and hat. Pushing him down in the corner, Bree put on the coat and hat, keeping her pistol handy. She then slowly slid out of the cell, locking the door behind her. She tore a strip from the sleeve of Scorch's coat, taking the dagger blade and forcing the strip of cloth into the keyhole, too far down to retrieve, jamming the lock. Grinning, she touched the brim of her hat and turned, limping down the hall.

Bree made it to the parade ground with no trouble. Though she was much smaller than Scorch, she resembled, dressed as she was, a younger man. The marines on watch weren't efficient anyway.

Bree set her plan into action. She made her way to the battery, the guns facing the sea to attack enemy ships sailing by. She happily found it totally unguarded. Fortune must be smiling down on her, because no sensible man would leave this side of the wall totally unguarded.

Bree set to work. She began spiking the guns, jamming in all manner of jagged rocks and debris into the cannons, trying to make as little noise as possible. When it was all done, Bree made a last check to make sure she hadn't missed any of the guns. Good…

Turning, Bree looked out over the parade ground. No one in sight. She grinned. Wait till Beckett saw she was gone!

Bree swung one leg over the wall, preparing to scale down. Suddenly, it hit her.

_Thomas!_

She stifled a groan. Of course! How harebrained of her to not think about it! She had to get him out, as well as the others. She slipped back over the wall, going down to the parade ground and heading for the dungeon again.

Thomas sat in his corner, chin pressed against his chest in a despondent manner. He hoped Bree was all right.

"Psst! Thomas!"

Looking up, Thomas saw Bree's face poking through the bars, a hat pushed low over her face. The other prisoners all began making noises, but the girl hurriedly shushed them. She then beckoned to the cell door, quietly sorting through the keys. She slid it into the lock, turning it. It suddenly snapped off, rusted right through and jammed in the lock.

Bree cursed under her breath, and the prisoners all began to moan. Bree shushed them, thinking. Then she raised her eyes, hand to mouth. Then, after closing her eyes for a moment, she slid an extended claw into the lock, fishing out the broken key and turning. The door clicked, and then opened with a dull creak.

Slipping into the cell, Bree went to each prisoner, undoing the manacles by using her claws once again.

Suddenly, they heard the door to the dungeon hall opening. Thomas moved swiftly, grabbing Bree and shoving her behind a group of men in a corner, concealing her from view.

A guard walked past, stopping to look in at the prisoners. He continued on his way.

The men started to jostle, intending to get the girl out from behind them and in a position to free the rest of them. Then they heard the guard returning. They scrambled to get back into position. Just at the moment the guard passed, one of the men accidentally rammed his elbow into Bree's pregnant stomach.

Bree yelped sharply in pain. The guard stopped, hearing the cry. He looked in through the bars, calling in, "Oi, what was that?"

Thomas covered, "What was what, sir?"

The guard pulled a ring of keys from his belt and opened the door, entering the cell and going to the group of men. He shoved them aside, seeing the girl who was currently curled up, slowly nursing the pain. Her head shot up, and she looked at the guard with wide eyes.

The guard grabbed the girl by the wrist, "Oi, ye're supposed to be in soli-"

Thomas leaped on the man, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl. He used his nails to tear at the man's eyes, slamming his forehead into the man's face. The guard gave a cry of pain, then gargled out another cry as Thomas sought to strangle him.

The commotion was detected by the outside guards. The door burst open and a group of marines came in through the hall, all shouting and readying their muskets. They got to the cell just as Thomas was hurling the guard clear across the space, leaping onto him and attempting to tear his eyes out. Bree was struggling from her corner, yelling out in a strained voice, "Thomas! Ye fool, git-" She was knocked to the side by a flailing musket, the butt striking her across the face. She landed hard, but was back up, shaking her head in response to the blow.

Leaping into the middle of the commotion, Bree found herself supported by two of the prisoners, who were holding off part of the marine group with their manacles, buying her time. "Go, missy! If they throw us out to sea, read over us when ye get a chance!"

But these words only detained Bree, her rash, impulsive spirit driving her on to foolishness, "I ain't leavin' without ye!" She leaped forward, trying to wrestle a musket from one marine and turning to use it on another, but she was once again struck in her swollen middle. She doubled over once more, groaning and trying to protect the baby.

It had turned into a full-out brawl inside the cell, now. Prisoners were trying to strangle armed guards with broken chains or using shards of sharpened rock to hack away at eyes and limbs. However, one of the guards had escaped to fetch reinforcements, along with Beckett himself.

Bree was in the process of driving her dagger down the man's shoulder when she was hit over the head with something hard. Being naturally hard headed, she stayed conscious long enough to see the pompous figure of Lord Beckett hurry to the cell with a fresh batch of marines and begin shouting orders. Then, she slumped to the floor, her hand still tightly clutching the dagger that was halfway in a dead guard's shoulder.

"That foolish young piece of sea-slime!"

The hissing sound filled the underwater cave with an unbearable vibration, causing the three Kelpies to clap their hands over their ears, their eyes, even though they were blind, showing pain and fear. Their fearsome mistress of the lost places of the oceans was in one of her moods…and they could turn on anyone.

Medusa swept about, her sinewy arms flailing in anger as she rammed her fists against the rocks, causing disturbances in the water that swayed the onlookers. She hissed, her forked tongue slithering out between her saw-like fangs as she ranted at her slaves, "Bunglers! Idiots! Treacherous fools! One runaway! There are twelve of you, and even those of you who can see still can't find him! Stupid blind sea slugs!"

One of the Kelpies, one of the favored ones who could see, came forward a bit, eyes cast down as he spoke in a timid voice, "Mightiness, we searched hard and long, but we believe that Orrin has gone ashore, and we cannot –"

The hissing neared him, and faster than he could move, iron claws gripped him around the throat. A grating voice screeched out in his ear, "Don't give me your excuses, you crawling urchin! This is what happens to those who don't carry out my orders!"

Medusa gripped the unfortunate's chin in her claws, forcing his head up. The Kelpie was too shocked to act and close his eyes. He looked up, terror in his eyes, and saw the face of his master for the first time. And for the last time.

Medusa stepped away, leaving a perfect statue of the creature that had been living but a moment before. Its stone face was still twisted in terror, and the body was still contorted in pain. Medusa didn't give it a second look, but let her eyes sweep over the others. Those that could see hid their faces, ignoring the salty tears that flowed to mingle with the seawater.

"Find him…or you will not be so fortunate to suffer a quick death. I will tear you into so many pieces that you will mix with the sand! Now go!"

"So, Orrin…Nunc-er, Jones tells me ye're a Kelpie. What's a Kelpie? I ain't well versed in the ancient sea legends."

Orrin leaned back, stretching his sinewy arms, looking towards Caylie, who was peppering him with questions. He spoke in his lilting voice, "We are creatures of the deep…born, raised in the depths. We have always served one master, but I was the first to rebel. I no longer wished to serve under her cruel whim."

Caylie's eyes grew as wide as a young girl at story time, "Who? Calypso?"

Orrin shook his head, his hair flowing across his shoulders like sea foam, "No, young maid. Calypso had lost her place in the sea long before I was born. I speak of Medusa, the cruelest goddess of the deeps. She is sadistic, bloodthirsty and power-hungry, who should have been a war goddess instead of a sea deity. Your Davy Jones threw her from power three centuries ago in the great struggle. But she has been gaining power for years. Yet she isn't strong enough yet. Not until she acquires the _Dutchman_ and takes your uncle's powers."

Caylie cast her eyes down, thinking, her face worried.

Orrin, as if he could read her mind, spoke, "She doesn't know about your part, Caylie."

Caylie looked up sharply, "What're ye talkin' about?"

Orrin smiled secretively, "I know that you have control over part of the Locker. But Medusa doesn't. She can't have pure dominion if she doesn't know. And as for Bree…does she have any power over the sea?"

Caylie shrugged, "I dunno…she's part of the sea, ye might say. Born on it, lived on it…an' the fact that she's the wife of the ruler of the sea helps a bit. But I dunno if she has any real power."

Orrin nodded slowly, "I see. She may have more power than even she knows…in one way or another."

Caylie blew a sigh, "She needs all of 'er power right now…an' I hope she has enough to hold out 'til we get there to help 'er!"

At that moment, Bree felt anything but powerful.

Her head was bowed between her shoulders as she hung limply, her arms and legs tied to the posts above the fortress walls, spread-eagle against the sky, her limbs pulled taut. The sun beat down mercilessly. Her entire body ached.

Bree hadn't betrayed Norrington. She couldn't, not after the risk he had taken. But now she was worse off. Thomas was now in solitary confinement, where Bree couldn't talk to him. And now she was out on the walls, facing the scorching heat. But she stayed strong. She kept telling herself _I'm a member of the _Dutchman'_s crew…I can't die…I'm part of the sea…Davy'll come after me. He's comin'…he gave Beckett the Black Spot…_

It wasn't her life she was worried about, though. It was the child's. An undead body bearing a child didn't mean the child was undead.

Bree sagged against her bonds, gritting her teeth. Sweat ran in rivulets down her temples, cheeks and neck. She had to stay strong. She didn't know _what_ Beckett was trying to do to her. She couldn't tell him any information. Beckett _had_ to know by now that the heart was with Jones. But if he wanted to ransom her…why would he keep her in such bad shape?

_He knows I could escape…he's tryin' to break me._

Bree looked up at the relentless eye of the sun, staring back at it as if challenging it. She suddenly shouted out at it, and at the whole expanse of the sea before her.

"_I won't break!_"


	14. Dolphin Queen

Chapter XIV

Dolphin Queen

"Jack…Jack?"

"Nngh?"

"Wake up! Those things are back!"

Jack raised his head from the makeshift pillow of his arms, blinking sleepily. He sniffed once, letting his eyes adjust. Who was…oh, it was Will. He was standing in the door of the cabin, watching the pirate.

Jack rose unsteadily, feeling about for his hat. Where was it…there it was…

Feeling not so naked anymore, Jack discreetly rubbed his left eye and stifled a yawn, "Ah, the Kelpies? They just don't give up, do they? Did Jones, Caylie or Orrin say anythin'?"

Will shook his head, "Jones and Caylie are on the _Dutchman_. Orrin is on the _Dawning_."

Jack nodded, his head going down slightly. It took so long for him to speak again that Will thought he had fallen asleep standing up. But Jack raised his head, his eyes now fully open and determined as he spoke, "Well, see if ye can get one of 'em over here for me, William. I'm a bit, er…slow this mornin'."

Will shrugged, "Jones said he wouldn't leave the _Dutchman_ until we reached our destination, Orrin is busy with something seaish, and Caylie's…well…I don't know what she's doing."

Jack let a small smile creep across his face, "Ah…ye don't, eh?"

"Clanker, ye can't stay here too long. Jones'll get suspicious an' come lookin' for ye!"

The crewmember shrugged, smiling down at the girl beside him, "I don't care, Caylie. I dunno if I'll have a better chance to catch a moment alone with ye."

Caylie blushed, wriggling slightly. She pretended to adjust her position so as to get better balance on the bowsprit, but was really just making an excuse to scoot closer to Clanker.

"Ye don't think Jones'll finally see that nothin' will stop us?"

Caylie shrugged, "Jones ain't bein' fair. He got Bree…he should let us be together. He of all people knows what separation can do to a poor soul."

Clanker nodded, "Took the words outta me mouth, darlin'. I haven't been able to sleep while ye've been away. Though now that ye're back, I can't sleep now either."

Caylie blushed again, her pretty face a healthy shade of pink, "Ye're jus' sayin' that."

"I mean every word, Caylie. Ye ought to know how I feel about ye," answered Clanker, reaching out with one hand and softly touching the girl's cheek with his fingertips.

Caylie sighed, closing her eyes. She had missed Clanker more than she thought it was possible to miss someone. How could she express how much she cared for him?

"Caylie…"

She opened her eyes, seeing Clanker's face fractions from hers. He was moving in, his hand trembling against her cheek. Caylie moved away slightly, whispering, "No, Clanker…not now. Jones'll find out. Later."

Clanker looked disappointed, but nodded, knowing that she was right. Jones knew he couldn't trust his niece to obey him concerning Clanker.

Caylie touched Clanker's arm briefly, smiling lovingly at him, "Soon, Clanker. Soon, we'll be together. I can feel it." And with that, she climbed up from the bowsprit to the deck.

Clanker stayed down for a few minutes after Caylie so as to give it the look that they had not been together. He sighed wistfully. Jones just wasn't being fair! He knew that the crewmember wanted Caylie. Knew that he _needed_ Caylie.

"If Bree were here, she'd be on my side."

_Another reason to rescue her._

Bree was currently getting a rude awakening. She was slapped across the face with a damp rag, bringing her into full consciousness. She looked up, her eyes fuzzy with the lack of water. Her upper lip was wet with sweat. She licked at it, tasting the bitter salty tang.

Scorch was standing a little below her bonds, holding something in his right hand on a loop of rope. What was that?

"See them birds up there, m' darlin'?" Scorch spoke in a voice laced with wicked glee.

Bree raised her eyes halfheartedly, seeing the sky speckled with the birds, all calling out like sirens of the sea. Bree let her gaze drop back down to Scorch's ugly grin. He explained, "They're hungry, miss. An' what'll they like better'n a half dead pirate?"

He raised her right hand, and Bree could see what it was. The head of a dead fish looped on a rope. Realization came now. They were going to lure the birds in…and let them tear at her eyes and face!

Bree was no coward, but anyone would cringe from such a situation. And her unprotected middle was open to scratching talons as well. That could kill the babe!

The girl began wriggling against her bonds, levering up with her tied legs, ducking the loop of rope as Scorch sought to string it round her neck. She snapped at him, showing her teeth and snarling, once catching his hand in her mouth and biting down hard. Scorch cursed, drawing his dagger, "That's it!"

Bree cried out in surprised agony as the blade pierced both her shoulder and the fish head, pinning it to her skin. She fell back against her bonds, spitting and foaming. She was half mad with the long endured pain.

_Davy, why won't ye hurry! For me an' yer child!_

Jones sat in his cabin, impatience showing on his features. Orrin said it would be any day…any day.

Every second was a waste of precious time. Bree could be suffering such tortures…Jones shuddered, not even wanting to think about it.

A knock on the cabin door sounded, and Jones called out roughly, "Enter."

The door opened, revealing Orrin. Jones glared at him, "Ye said we'd be there any day now!"

Orrin bowed his head slightly as a sign of respect before answering, "Yes, Captain. But the Kelpies are still following us. I've had to slow the pace a bit."

Jones shrugged, "Why should the Kelpies be a threat? An' why are they botherin'?"

Orrin blinked once, "Medusa wants this ship."

Jones' ice blue eyes snapped to Orrin's pale green ones, "Why?"

"The power of this ship combined with the soul of Calypso and all the other sea gods would give her ultimate domain over these waters."

Jones narrowed his eyes, "Still…she's no match for me."

"No…she's not…yet."

Orrin left the cabin, his eyes roving over the deck. The crew were all about their work. He looked to the other three ships. The _Pearl_ was keeping pace with the _Dutchman_, while the _Bloodmast_ was in line with the _Dawning_.

Orrin saw the girl, Jones' niece Caylie, coming up from the bowsprits. He watched her for a moment. She was a pretty girl. And brave too.

_Lucky fellow to win her affections…_

Orrin found himself gazing too long and snapped his eyes away, walking towards the stern, reprimanding himself sharply.

Caylie entered Jones' cabin without knocking, calling out in an exasperated voice, "Ain't we ever goin' to reach land?"

Jones groaned, "Go ask Orrin…I don't like it any more'n ye do."

Caylie picked at her teeth agitatedly, and Jones glanced sideways at her, letting a rare smile cross his features. She looked so much like her mother. He sighed. Bree would have liked Dawn. But his sister was long dead, and there was no getting her back.

_Let's just hope we can get Bree back…_

"Where's Clanker?"

Caylie's head shot up, her eyes meeting her uncle's. She colored visibly but answered in a perfectly innocent voice, "Clanker? Oh, I dunno, why d'ye ask?"

Jones smirked, "I could swear 'e's been skulkin' about like a guilty dog. Ye wouldn't have anythin' to do with that, would ye?"

Caylie turned and headed out of the cabin, calling over her shoulder, "We could speculate all day, but it won't get us any closer to savin' Bree!"

Caylie emerged from the cabin, glancing about the deck. She spotted Orrin sitting near the railing, his long pale hair floating on the breeze like foam. She went to join him, addressing him, "Mate, how long we goin' to be?"

Orrin didn't look at her, speaking in a somewhat strained voice almost, "Only a day or so, little Captain Jones."

Caylie looked up at him sharply, then saw a slight spark of playfulness in his eyes. She grinned up at him, "Little, eh? I could knock ye dead with one knee, mate."

Orrin glanced down at her, his green eyes soft, "I've no doubt, maid. Though I wouldn't like a pretty one like you turned against me."

"Then we're friends?" Caylie held a hand out good-naturedly.

Orrin took her hand, and instead of shaking it, he kissed it softly, "Friends, pretty one."

"Please," Caylie said, blushing slightly at his compliment, "Call me Caylie."

Orrin smiled at her, "Caylie, then."

Caylie met his eyes, a friendly smile on her face. Then it slowly faded. She felt suddenly uncomfortable. Averting her eyes, she said, "Erm, I'd best be gettin' back to the _Dawning."_

Before Orrin could keep her any longer, she was gone.

Orrin looked after her, looking down at his hand. He was being silly.

_Five hundred years…then you meet a mortal, and after two days you feel this way?_

No…no, he didn't.

Bree had handled the birds gallantly, even snagging a large gannet by the neck with her teeth. She had managed to snap its neck by shaking it violently, though it resulted in a terrible headache for her. She didn't care about her eyes and face, but more about her unprotected belly, gradually growing larger. She was still in the early stages of pregnancy, and her lower torso only protruded to the thickness of a vertical fist. But it was still vulnerable. And her undead body seemed to be producing the child fast, and she would get larger much quicker.

Bree had blood on her temples, but most of her wounds were in her shoulder, where the fish had been. She didn't care, though. She had managed to even snap off the last remains of the fish herself and spit them out on the ground.

_How 'ave I survived this? If I weren't undead…I'd have died a long time ago. But I've got a limit…I won't last long._

The men below her watched in disappointment. They hadn't gotten to see any real savagery. Sure, the girl had screamed a bit when the birds flew at her shoulder, but most of it was from fear for her unprotected middle. But it was when the one bird had gotten at her and attacked her head when she had really started screaming, trying to duck out of the way.

Everything had gone fuzzy for Bree. Lack of food and water was making her slowly go mad. The only consolation she had was the music box she kept hidden in the folds of her jerkin, and seeing the bandage around Beckett's hand.

It reminded her of Davy's promise to come for her.

Flagg couldn't handle the waiting. Another day was the estimated time left until they reached land. He had spent most of his free time telling Captain Fletcher about Bree, though all his memories came from childhood, but that was better than nothing for Paul.

Paul was one of the most eager to reach land. He had never met his daughter, and was apprehensive. He didn't know if Bree would even care about meeting the father she had never known.

Jones and Paul had not been speaking to one another. They avoided one another at all costs. The pure awkwardness of being near one another was stifling to them and others. Paul never left the _Pearl_, but Flagg, though he could almost always be found at his captain's side, would occasionally go to the _Bloodmast_ or the _Dawning._

Currently, he was on the _Bloodmast_. And he was witnessing a rather peculiar thing. The girl Caylie, captain of the _Dawning_, was on board, having come over shortly after him, whispering with the woman Lillian. The two females were speaking in low tones, nodding together. Lillian then motioned toward Captain Barbossa's cabin.

They both walked towards the cabin, where Flagg was standing. Lillian passed him a smile as they entered, greeted by Barbossa's voice. Then the door closed. Flagg wasn't a prying person, so he didn't try to listen in. He just leaned back against the stair railing, looking upward.

Not long after, the two women reappeared, and Caylie was smiling somewhat shyly. Barbossa followed after them.

Lillian turned to Flagg, "Flagg, do you think you could do the young captain here a favor?"

Flagg raised an eyebrow, but put a fist to his forehead in a type of salute, nodding to Caylie, "Aye, marm…what d'ye wish me to do?"

Lillian spoke for Caylie, "Don't let anyone into Hec…I mean," she corrected hurriedly, "Captain Barbossa's cabin…except for a fellow with a large brimmed hat and barnacles over one eye by the name of Clanker. Do you understand?"

Flagg nodded, still puzzled, "Aye, marm…I know the blighter. I'll, uh…see to it."

Caylie smiled, blushing, "Thanks so much, Flagg…"

Flagg nodded again, saluting her, "Pleasure, miss…I mean, Cap'n Caylie." He grinned winningly at her.

Caylie smiled, heading into the cabin and shutting the door. Flagg took his place outside it, looking questioningly at Lillian, "Marm…can I ask what this is all about?"

Lillian put a finger to her lips, winking, "No, sir…you may not. You're smart enough to figure it all out."

Before Flagg could protest, she went to the side of the ship and waved her arm across in the direction of the _Dutchman_. Flagg strained his eyes, seeing one of the crewmembers looking across at her. The crewmember nodded at Lillian, as if acknowledging some sort of agreed signal.

Flagg glanced back to Lillian, who winked at him, then headed off towards the foredeck. Flagg was about to call out to Barbossa, when he saw a sight he would never forget. The crewmember who had been on the _Dutchman_ a moment before…was seemingly appearing out of the railing of the _Bloodmast._ He pulled free of the wood, heading towards Flagg. The young man bit his tongue to keep his jaw from dropping.

The crewmember looked towards Flagg, walking towards him. Flagg bit his lip as the strange man stood in front of the door.

"Erm…is it all right to go in?"

Flagg nodded dumbly, "Aye…s'all right…"

Clanker touched the brim of his hat, opening the door and stepping inside, quickly shutting the door after himself, leaving a very confused Flagg outside.

Clanker saw Caylie sitting on the desk in the center of the cabin, her legs kicking restlessly in a pattern of three kicks on each foot. She looked up at him, smiling shyly.

Clanker smiled back at her, speaking softly, "Ye were right…though I was _sure_ we'd get nary a moment alone."

Caylie slid off of the desk, walking up to Clanker, "I have my ways…an' there ain't nothin' Jones can do to keep me from ye. Nothin'."

The crewmember gazed at her softly, his eyes warm. He took the girl's hand in his own, intertwining his fingers with hers. He then brought it to his mouth, kissing her palm softly.

"Well…we've got a moment alone, darlin'…"

"Aye, but not much. Jones'll miss ye if ye don't get back soon."

Clanker nodded, feeling his heart pounding against his chest.

"It's enough time, though…"

Caylie moved closer, her eyes seeming to hold him in a single, rigid position.

"Clanker…we've said everythin'…we've both told each other how we feel…but will this fantasy ever come true?"

Clanker sighed, "I don't know, darlin'…I really don't…"

Caylie looked down, despondent. Clanker put his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to meet his. He then drew his hand away, almost apologetically.

"Clanker…Jones can't change my feelin's for you…ye know that, don't ye?"

Clanker looked up, seeing the slight shadow across her face. He felt the longing fill him. How long would he have to wait?

As if she could read his mind, Caylie spoke, "It won't be long, Clanker…I promise…"

Clanker timidly reached forward, sliding his hand between the girl's skin and her soft brown hair. She was so beautiful…

"Caylie…"

Caylie's blue eyes were dazzling…he could have stared into them for hours. He couldn't help himself. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to hers. Caylie seemed somewhat startled, but answered back, her hand pressing his neck. Clanker opened his mouth wider, sliding his hand down to Caylie's waist. Never had anything been so sweet!

Giddy with emotion, the pair seemed to meld together, Caylie's slender form crushed against Clanker's strong body, his thick, muscular arms gripping her tightly. He had been separated from her for so long…and now she was in his arms. He was afraid that she would disappear, for she had been nothing but a sweet, unattainable dream for so long.

Caylie felt her mouth filled with sweetness as Clanker kissed her. She could taste the pain he felt. It matched her own. When would they be together? When?

Suddenly, everything stopped. Even though they were oblivious to all around them, two words were shouted from the crow's nest of the _Dawning_, two words that seemed to charge everyone with energy and anxious excitement. The two forms pulled away, still holding onto one another's arms but staring at the door, eyes wide.

"Land ho!"


	15. Sea Moot

Chapter XV

Sea Moot

Bree had gradually been getting her strength back. She had been put back in the cell with the rest of the prisoners, and now she was building her strength up, eating and sleeping more. Being undead, her wounds healed and she was much more resilient. But even then, she was still very weak from the treatment she was receiving. Some hope had been restored, however. Thomas had been released from solitary. Beckett thought it might loosen Bree's tongue, or at least make her health improve. Why would he want that? That's explained shortly.

Thomas hovered over her constantly like a mother hen, trying to give her his food ration, though she refused to take it. Everything had been gloomier since they had taken the first bunch of men to be hanged, and Bree's spirits were down, as were many others'.

Beckett seemed to have given up on prying information out of Bree. And she knew why. He was going to wait for the child to be born…then he would take it from her. She even noticed that she was receiving larger rations of food and more water. Beckett wanted her to have a successful birth. A miscarriage would be of no use to him.

Soon, as she recovered her strength, Bree recovered her spirit, though it was still not as fierce as it had been before. She continued promising her fellow prisoners that Jones was coming, and spent hours just gazing at the music box she kept with her at all times. She also peppered Thomas with questions about her father, speaking as if she was positive of seeing him one day. Thomas sensed a sort of resentful feeling in Bree, but it was only natural. Paul had never been there for her…and when Thomas learned of the way his mother had died (he had known she was dead, but didn't know how it had happened) he felt a sort of guilt on behalf of his father.

One of the questions that was asked repeatedly but never fully answered was, "Did 'e ever talk about me?"

Yes and no was his true answer. He knew his father had known of his daughter…but he knew nothing of who she was. He hadn't even known her name. Or bothered to give her one, for that matter.

Bree knew this well enough. She always had a slightly bitter response to his answers…but Thomas could sense the hurt behind her words.

"Bree…Father told me 'e had wanted to meet ye. But 'e thought that ye had died when 'e found out Mama had died." He blinked hard at this, "I didn't know she had died so badly…"

Bree looked down, biting her lip. "Well, she's dead…an' it's Father's fault!"

Thomas shook his head, "Bree, it ain't nobody's fault but th' one wot killed 'er!"

Bree slumped back, her eyes downcast. She stroked the music box that never left her grip.

"Davy'll come, Thomas…an' when 'e does, we'll be free…"

Thomas looked at her. He was still skeptical. How could Bree be the wife of the dreaded sea legend himself?

As if sensing his thoughts, Bree looked up, her eyes defensive, "He's real, Thomas…an' 'e's comin', on me affidavit!"

Thomas had to humor her. She was pregnant and despairing. Anything to hope for would help her.

"I know, Bree…I'm anxious to meet my brother-in-law."

Bree looked at him, fiercely aware of the falsity of his words, "Ye think I'm crazy! I ain't crazy! He's comin'! I'm married to 'im, I'm carryin' his child, he gave Beckett the Black Spot!"

"Bree, that's a _pirate's_ death sentence," Thomas pointed out.

Bree shook her head, "Beckett's a pirate in a way. He steals freedom an' life from others. An' Davy can give it to anyone 'e wants!"

Thomas pushed Bree back onto a small pile of ragged coats that formed a pillow, "Sleep, Bree…"

Bree blinked back tears, speaking in a voice that broke several times with desperation, "Ye'll see, Thomas…ye'll see…he's comin', an' Bootstrap, an' Clanker an' Hadras an' Koleniko, an' all th' rest of 'em!"

These names, of course, meant nothing to Thomas. But he humored the poor girl, stroking her forehead soothingly. She needed rest…desperately.

The _Flying Dutchman_ and the rescue fleet hove into view. They had landed, as if by divine fate, on the western side of the island, not far from the fort, but out of sight. Of course, Orrin had informed them on the fort's position, and they had begun to make plans.

Jones was, of course, the leader of the operation, though he noticed that Paul was a master tactician. He allowed him, therefore, to assert his own opinion. After all, it was his daughter. But more importantly, it was Jones' wife.

The two Scotsmen stood side by side at the _Dutchman_'s bow. Paul had at last relented to board the ghost ship to attend the council of war. Their plan for the moment was to send out a few men to scout out the area. After they knew the strength of the enemy, they could plan more efficiently. Numbers might be an issue. Between the crews of four ships, they had about two hundred odd men. But the _Dutchman_ boys were the main strength of the force, as they were the most skilled fighters and, as a bonus, couldn't die. But they knew they shouldn't give in to rash action.

Poor Jones. He couldn't step on land for another ten years. He desperately wanted to join the rescue party on shore…but it was hopeless. Dire consequences would follow should he break the sacred rules of the sea. He had voiced his disappointment, and Flagg, always the noble young man, offered to go in his behalf. Flagg also urged that they capture Beckett and bring him aboard the _Dutchman_. Jones was in wholehearted agreement with this. He wanted to get at Beckett and rip him to pieces.

No one was foolish enough to refuse him this request.

Bear, former bosun of the _Bloody Mary_, was sitting at the bow of the _Dawning_, looking out at the shore. His handsome face was lit with a smile, strong muscles rippling with each movement.

"Did ye know Bree?"

The giant turned his head, seeing Caylie, the young captain of the _Dawning_. She had just returned from the council of war.

Nodding his head respectfully, the big man answered, "No, I didn't know Miss Bree…but Cap'n Fletcha says he di'n't know her either."

He tilted his head now, looking at Caylie, "You did, di'n't ya?"

Caylie nodded, smiling, "Aye…she's my aunt, after all…my age, too. Actually, I think I'm older'n her!" She laughed, and Bear's deep bass chuckle joined in.

"Daveh Jones' niece…neva was sure what I t'ought about de legends…but now I see'd 'im, an' I know now…"

"He's really not such a bad codger if you get to know him," Caylie said, smiling.

"If he have a wife, he must be good," Bear said, looking out to the island.

Caylie followed his gaze, narrowing her piercing eyes.

"Aye…that's why we gotta get her back."

Orrin had been missing for several hours. No one was able to find him on any of the vessels. It took a while for them to remember that he was a creature of the sea, therefore was as at home in the depths as they were on the surface.

Standing in the midst of a kelp forest, his sea foam hair floating about his handsome face, Orrin looked upward, smiling as he saw a dark shape approaching him. From the looks of it, it was a sea creature, moving easily, swirling in frolicking movements.

As it drew closer, it was discernable. A great grey seal, powerful and majestic, moving gracefully and easily, weaved its way toward Orrin. At last, when it reached him, it swirled once in the water, causing bubbles to slide across Orrin's cheeks and neck. Then, it spoke, though its voice, deep and commanding, but a respectful tone, was slightly garbled from the water.

"Lord, you called for me? You've found Captain Jones?"

"Ròn Ghlas Mòr…faithful companion…" Orrin smiled at the seal, green eyes affectionate with a brotherly love. The seal landed lightly on the seabed, allowing a strange transformation to take place. Soon, the figure of a handsome young man, dark hair flowing softly over his grey tinged brow, stood before him, unsmiling.

"Lord, I have news. I'm afraid it is not to our favor."

"I assume Medusa has moved?" Orrin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ròn Ghlas Mòr nodded, "Aye…I saw her train from a distance. But I saw two others."

Orrin's handsome face darkened, "Is it what I feared?"

"Aye, lord…both have been summoned. Each Uisge and Each Tened…"

"Both? It is worse than I feared!" Orrin moaned, for once showing his distress. He closed his eyes, as if composing his nerves.

Since the days of his awakening, as he called the time he had realized the wickedness of his former mistress, he had worried about standing up to three beings; Medusa, Skade the Each Uisge and Ötlu the Each Tened. In a way, Orrin was kin with these two. Each Uisge came from a long, ancient line of Kelpies, far more powerful. Each Tened was what others would know as the fire horse, another long line of ancient creatures. And these two worked closely with Medusa, not her equals, but not her subordinates either.

Ròn waited on his master's word, head bowed slightly. Orrin turned to him.

"Jones is aware of Medusa's activity. The Sirens and the blind Kelpies are more active as well. They are following the _Dutchman_."

"You've enlisted his help?"

"Without it, we have no hope. But Jones has troubles of his own. You recall Bad Luck Bree?"

Ròn thought, then nodded, "Aye…the straw-haired sea girl. I remember seeing her once near the Minch. But what of her?"

"She's been taken. Jones won't give her up for lost. And he shouldn't. She's more powerful than anybody would think. Her strength will be needed." Orrin fell silent now.

"And there are others who wish to have her back."

"Jones' niece?"

Orrin's sea-glass eyes snapped to his second-in-command's face, a defensive look entering them. "She is of no relevance yet. Only if Medusa attempts to seize the Locker will she be…" He faltered.

"In danger…I know," Ròn nodded knowingly. He was slightly disturbed by the sudden change in his master's attitude.

Orrin looked sideways at Ròn, suddenly wary. "Jones is the one we should truly worry about. Everything is at stake. With the Each Uisge and Each Tened fighting against us, the odds do not go in our favor. But we have brave souls on our side."

Ròn bowed his head, choosing not to speak again. Orrin looked up at him again, "Very well…summon our people to you…the battle, when it comes, will be hard fought. I do not expect victory…but I do not stop hoping for it."

Ròn once again bowed, "Yes, my lord. It shall be done." And he seemed to be the form of a gray seal once again as he weaved his way through the kelp strands.

Orrin sighed, opening and shutting his big right hand in a nervous tick.

_She is of no relevance yet. _

He winced, clenching his hand into a fist.

Lillian Doyle sat with her back to the sea breeze, sharpening her daggers. She enjoyed the sound of the slender steel on the whetting stone. She supposed that was a slightly morbid quality about her, but she didn't worry about it. She looked out to the shoreline, narrowing her deep blue eyes. The attack was planned, everything was prepared. Soon Bree would be free, plus anyone else being held in the fortress.

"We're coming, little lionfish."


	16. Broken Chains

A/N: YOU THOUGHT I WAS DEAD, DIDN'T YOU?! WELL I'M NOT!! Sorry, life has been busy, what with school and college applications and depression. Bravy keeps me alive! Just to let you know, I'm still working on all my stories...they just may take a LONG time.

Chapter XVI

Broken Chains

Bree lay curled in her customary corner, head tucked into the curve of her body. Thomas sat near the bars of the cell, his head in his hands. He and the other men were scheduled to die at dawn. Bree would be left alone, alone to face whatever Beckett would dream up.

Bree seemed to sense Thomas' feelings. Without even raising her head, she spoke, "Thomas…Davy's comin'. I swear."

"I'm afeared he'll be too late," Thomas said in a monotone voice, not even looking at her. He simply stared out of the bars. Then his eyes caught sight of movement. One of the guards perhaps? No…

A man entered the corridor. He was a man the likes of which Thomas had never seen. His skin was an unnatural shade of grey, his hair a brown-smeared black. He turned to the cell door, smiling at Thomas. He came closer to the bars, whispering, "Thomas Fletcher, I presume?"

"Aye…" Thomas said, dumbstruck. Who was this man? He hadn't seen him in the compound or anywhere else.

"Is there a girl with you? Her name is Bree."

"Aye, she's right there…" Thomas pointed dumbly, unsure of what to think.

"Excellent." The man smiled, looking through the bars past Thomas at the dejected form of the girl. He called softly, "Miss Bree!"

Bree made a grunting noise, not raising her head. When the man called again, she snorted bad-temperedly, straightening and turning her eyes to the cell door. Her face showed the same expression as that of Thomas'.

"Who're ye?"

"My name isn't one you would know," the man answered, drawing something from the inside of his jerkin, "But I do have a message from a man whose name you know quite well. Davy Jones."

Bree's eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened in a half moon, no doubt to shout out something in a triumphant tone, but the man placed a finger to his lips, "Say nothing, maid. Secrecy is a matter of the utmost importance as of now. I was sent to give you this and a message."

Bree stood shakily, going to the bars. The man reached through, placing something in her hand, "Your captain asked me to tell you that by tomorrow morning you should be free…" He looked to Thomas and the other men in the cell, who were all slumbering heavily, "He knows nothing of these men, but my master and I do. We'll do all we can to free you all." He withdrew his hand, and then turned, vanishing silently around a corner of the corridor.

Bree sat down heavily, her eyes wide and her face pale. But her mouth was still curved up in that smile. She looked down at the object in her hand. Her smile grew bigger.

"Bootstrap's dagger…"

_Will an' Elizabeth are comin' too! Are they all comin'?_

She couldn't help a humorous thought.

_Makes a person feel loved, don't it?_

Orrin breathed deep the sea air. In a few hours there would be bitter bloodshed. Strange that it was so peaceful, with the sunset so beautiful across the waves.

Ròn Ghlas Mòr had reported to him. Bree had been alerted to the plan, and she would be ready. Orrin smiled. Everything was going to plan. Jones had been constantly complaining about the fact that he could not go on land due to the curse. He had desperately wanted into the fight. Well, Orrin had a surprise in store for Jones. He smiled even more.

_We're coming, Broadsword Bree…everything will be as it should be._

And as he thought this, his thoughts turned to Caylie, Jones' niece. He had been plagued by these unfamiliar feelings. He didn't understand them. But he did not attempt to deny them anymore. The only thing he struggled with now was whether he should act on them. He had never been in love before. It was, in a way, against the rules of sea powers. But he couldn't hold these feelings back forever. Caylie might even accept him. Why couldn't he ask?

_After all this is over._

Bootstrap stood on the quarterdeck of the _Dutchman_. They were watching all the men lining up in ranks on the shore in the emerging moonlight, half of the _Dutchman_ crewmen and men from the _Bloodmast_ and the _Dawning._ The men on the _Pearl_ were staying aboard with Jack to man her, as she had more work to do that required them to man her. The _Dawning,_ under command of William for the present, and the _Bloodmast,_ under the partner command of Elizabeth and Annamaria, were also to play a key role.

Jones stood sullenly at the railing of his ship. He was seething with envy. Paul, Flagg, Lillian, Caylie, and Barbossa were all going ashore to fight. He wanted to be the first to storm the fortress!

Suddenly, he found Orrin beside him. He snorted at him in an effort to acknowledge him and express his frustration at the same time. Orrin spoke with concealed happiness, "Sir, I suppose you want to go ashore?"

"Ha, what gave ye that idea?" he snarled, not even looking at the Kelpie. The handsome young sea god smiled broader, and when Jones turned, he saw that Orrin had transformed into his horse form. But he was larger than he had been last time.

"Your mount awaits, Captain Jones."

Jones stared in dumb fascination. Orrin explained, shaking his mane, "There is no rule that says you can't ride _above_ land, is there?"

Jones stared at Orrin, then smiled. He patted the horse heartily on the flank with his good hand, "Ye're a good lad, Orrin!"

Caylie stood ashore, her excitement bubbling over into the jitters. She hopped from foot to foot, sheathing and partially unsheathing her sword every few minutes. This was it…the plan was going into action.

She was standing a few ranks behind Clanker. He turned slightly, giving her a secretive smile. She returned it.

Then she turned her attention to the figure coming down the gangplank of the _Dutchman_. It was evening dark, but she could still see it clearly. She could have laughed out loud. Jones was sitting astride Orrin's back. It was almost comical, but yet so noble. Jones showed no difficulty in keeping his seat. He was a strong man and was able to keep his balance easily. He didn't have to worry about leading, as Orrin knew exactly what to do. And though Jones was a big man, Orrin was a bigger horse. They both looked strangely majestic when put together.

As Orrin passed Caylie, she reached out, stroking his neck. He paused, looking back at her. She smiled, kissing him between the eyes and whispering, "Ye have my thanks, Orrin. Ye've made 'im so happy!"

Orrin gave her a smile, as much as a horse can, and whispered back, "A great accomplishment for anybody, I'd say!"

Caylie giggled and kissed his brow again. He blew a comforting breath on her cheek before moving on, his gait slightly springier than it had been.

"C'mon, Bree! Try it again!"

"Are they comin', Tully?"

Tully, a broad shouldered old sailor with a slanted eye turned, winking his good eye at her, "Naw, Miss Bree…ye keep on turnin'."

Bree nodded, fitting the strong blade of Bootstrap's dagger into the lock. She turned, twisted, levered and pulled…just a little more…

"Hellfire…c'mon, me darlin' liddle lock…turn for me…c'mon…" she pleaded with the lock, grunting as she gave one swift snap. A beautiful click, and she gave a large smile. Murmurs of excitement came from the men, who were all crowded eagerly behind her. She removed the dagger, drew her arms back inside the cell and turned to the men, shushing them, "Quiet, mates…we ain't free yet."

"C'mon, lass! What're we waitin' for?"

"For Davy," Bree answered firmly, "He's gotta plan. We cain't do nothin' without 'im. 'Sides, we ain't got weapons."

A smaller statured sailor by the name of Crutcher perched behind the bars alongside her, his eyes squinting at her, "Ye've said some crazy things, Miss Bree…but I think we're all willin' to believe anythin' to get outta here afore dawn." Murmurs of agreement followed this statement. Thomas shouldered past him, "Bree, the armory's 'bout a stone's throw away once ye git out to the parade ground…if one of us could sneak out an' bring back a few blades-"

"Naw, too risky, mate," Tully cut him off, "The guards may be sluggish on th' draw, but they ain't as stupid as that."

Crutcher shouldered the length of chain which Bree had freed him from with Bootstrap's dagger, "We've got these. That's somethin'."

Bree, still crouched near the cell door, was peering down the corridor. She gave a quick, "Hist!" and all fell silent. They waited with bated breath as a figure rounded the corner. Bree and Thomas recognized the form of Ròn Ghlas Mòr.

The Kelpie's first lieutenant approached the cell door, once again signing to Bree and Thomas to remain silent. Without a word, he reached through the bars, handing something wrapped in parchment cloth to Thomas, who accepted it eagerly. He then mouthed, "Until dawn," and withdrew from the corridor, back to his master.

Bree watched keenly as Thomas revealed the wrapped item. He smiled as he drew out something that looked like a large fishing hook. That was exactly what it was, only it was attached to a long cord and had a bound handle. He fit it lovingly to his palm, stroking the curved point.

Bree's curiosity caused him to turn, smiling as he explained, "Your friend's a magician! This is me old hook! I'm known as a formidable hook fighter, y'know. Never lost a fight with this beauty!" He kissed the hook fondly, grinning at Bree, whose eyes were filled with astonished wonder. She had never run across a hook fighter before. It would be interesting to see him in combat.

And combat was imminent, and well looked forward to.

The _Dutchman_, crewed by the remainder of the men who had not gone ashore, rounded the island's small jutting horn and appeared in full view of the fortress. No element of surprise from the _Dutchman_. They wanted to be seen. And in a short time, the cry had been raised in the ramparts, and men were readying the cannons at the battery…only to find them spiked, Bree's earlier efforts giving an unexpected boost to the _Dutchman_'s performance. Several men were killed in the explosions, and Norrington, inwardly hoping for the _Dutchman_'s victory, purposefully stalled.

Several disastrous explosions from the spiked guns killed several of the marines at the walls. But the rest were all ready and began to fire warning shots at the _Dutchman_. Beckett's orders were not to fire directly at her. After all, it would have been a futile enterprise, and Beckett wanted to bargain…because he knew Jones would as well.

A white flag of truce was seen flapping at the _Dutchman_'s topmast. Beckett, now at the ramparts, had planned to send some dispensable men to the _Dutchman_ to work out terms…just in case Jones tried any treachery. But he doubted the great sea captain would risk it, if those tales of his devotion to the girl were true. Thus he was so confident, and eager to prove his courage to the men under his command, that he chose to accompany them…armed with a brace of pistols and leaving strict orders to his men that, should Jones try treachery, they were to place Bree in a solid gibbet, seal the hinges, and take it farther inland. A sure end if ever there was one.

Bootstrap stood at the bow rail, watching as the longboat approached. The men aboard were bristling with arms. Good show of faith.

Oglivey, watching from the stern rail, called out, "Aye, here they come! All ready?"

Maccus, who had been hoping to go ashore to join the fight, was stationed on the _Dutchman_ to keep order and stand in for Jones. He nodded, smiling grimly, "Like sheep t' the slaughter, eh? We'll play along wi' their game."

Caylie crouched down close to the wall, her sword held loosely in her hand. She was breathing heavily, excitement causing her heart to pound. She wasn't nervous at all. She was a competent fighter and a formidable opponent even for a seasoned marine or sailor, but the adrenaline of the expectation of a fight always made her a bit fidgety.

Orrin, his horse form standing out like sea foam against the fortress wall, felt Jones' movement as he drew his sword in preparation. Orrin squared his own shoulders, flicking his mane slightly. Ròn, slightly ahead, was marking out an area of the wall. If a ship's cannon blasted away the stone several hundred yards away from this spot, an entrance right behind the barracks would be made, and the force could charge in, taking all the fighting men by surprise. One third could handle the men on duty, another third the men in the barracks, and the other third would head for the prison cells. Ròn had given Bree Bootstrap's dagger. She would most likely break out as soon as she heard the war cry of the invading force, and the prisoners would hurry out to meet them, and they would need help getting past guards.

Jones, gripping his sword tightly in his good hand, scanned the force before him. There was Caylie, her sword flashing dully. He couldn't help a smile of fondness. She was a true fighter, that one. But then he saw her gaze shifting from the wall to a figure behind. Clanker noticed her gaze, and returned it.

Jones could read everything in that exchange. He shook his head slightly. No, he still couldn't see it…and he really didn't approve, even if Clanker was a decent man. His niece was the closest he had to a daughter, and like a father, he was unwilling to give her up to a man he thought unworthy of her.

If that was what it was like to be a parent, he wondered if he and Bree (once they got her back, and they _would_) should even attempt to have children. He couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of himself as a father.

_It would never work…_

"Your captain…I'm sure he knows what I came for. Does he not deem this important enough to handle personally?"

"Sir," Maccus affected the air of a cowed man, despite his inner contempt and cold amusement toward the puny figure of Beckett, "Sir, wi' respect, Cap'n Jones was unwillin' to…he didn't want to…" He convincingly donned the face of a man searching madly for a way to cover up an embarrassment.

Beckett smiled cruelly, "Ah, he was too humiliated to face me? Of course, I should have known. But no matter, we'll have him out on deck before this is over. He'll want to see his little rat back, won't he?"

The marines, small number that they were, spread themselves out along the sides, their faces showing their fear of the crew but their actions proving that they feared Beckett more. It was safer to face any enemy than to cross Beckett. They had to look straight at the strange fishmen without making it too obvious they were terrified. The knocking of knees didn't really help them, though.

"My terms are simple," Beckett was now saying, "The heart for the girl."

"Y'mean, power over th' seas for the girl, aye?" Maccus couldn't help this snarling reply.

Beckett smiled smugly, "My good man, you've at last grasped it. Let's hope your captain is equally perceptive." He didn't see or hear Wheelback attempting to get at him, arms flailing in a sort of wild but understandable desire to rip and tear, anchored down by Angler and Old Haddy. Maccus gave a discreet nod to Wheelback as if to say, "Just be patient."

Maccus now spoke to Beckett, "How can we be certain ye'll deliver?"

"If you deliver, I'll deliver," Beckett answered, smiling confidently.

Penrod was waiting for his cue. He hopped up beside Maccus, holding (with some visible difficulty) the chest that contained the heart of Davy Jones. From within issued the unmistakable boom of a still-beating heart. Beckett's eyes flamed with lust for power as he gazed at the chest. Soon he would have control of all the seas!

"Open it. Open it now."

Maccus moved slowly. He produced the key, fitting it into the lock and turning it. He moved to open the lid, but Beckett, eager to do it himself, shoved his claws away, flinging the chest open. His eyes went blank for a moment, then wide with a type of rage. He looked to Maccus, opening his mouth to speak…but his words were cut short by a distant boom.

Beckett turned in order to see what the source of the noise was. A ship's gun, surely, but how…he found a blade to his throat. The crew set about their work with savage pleasure, slaughtering the marines and allowing the blood to drain to the center of the deck, collecting in sticky pools. Beckett stood rigid with a sort of terror he once thought he was above, forced to watch the grisly spectacle. Then he was whirled around to face Maccus. The first mate brandished his boarding axe under the man's nose, smiling with savage glee, "Told ye we'd deliver."


End file.
